Mr.  \ 


hen  a...-.; 

particularl.  face 

ponders  the  s 
hipped  gabl. 
-teps  that  le 
'  his  all 

,~o      V. 


THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 


Facade  of  the   Cathedral   of  Notre   Dame  Le  Puy 
{frontispiece} 


THE  HILL-TOWNS 
OF  FRANCE 


BY 

EUGENIE  M.  FRYER 


ILLUSTRATED  B7 
ROY  L.  HILTON 


NEW  YORK 

E.  P.  DUTTON  &  CO. 

681  FIFTH  AVENUE 


COPVKIGHT,  1917, 
BT  E.  P.  BUTTON  &  CO. 


printed  in  the  United  States  of  Hmerlea 


TO 

THE   MEMORY 

OF  MY 
FATHER  AND   MOTHER 


2038652 


PREFACE 

TWO  people  never  see  a  thing  from  exactly  the 
same  angle,  nor  in  describing  it  present  the 
same  viewpoint;  so  out  of  something  old  we  are 
constantly  getting  something  new.  France  has 
been  pictured  in  a  variety  of  ways,  as  a  whole,  in 
sections,  or  by  dealing  with  some  specific  subject 
such  as  its  cathedrals,  its  chateaux,  its  literary 
landmarks.  Yet  as  far  as  I  know,  France  has 
never  been  approached  from  the  viewpoint  of  its 
hill-towns. 

These  hill-towns  are  of  four  distinct  types: 
first,  the  large  town,  commanded  and  protected 
by  the  turrets  and  massive  towers  of  its  walls  and 
citadel ;  second,  the  feudal  castle,  the  residence  of 
some  great  lord  about  whose  walls  a  straggling 
town  has  grown  up;  third,  the  fortified  town, 
communal  in  character,  which,  governed  by  no 
over-lord  and  possessed  of  no  castle,  yet  protects 
itself  from  invasion  by  fortifying  its  houses  and 
its  churches  also;  fourth,  the  monastic  hill-town, 
its  defences  built  primarily  to  defend  a  shrine, 
vii 


viii  PREFACE 

These  four  types  are  found  throughout  France, 
revealing  certain  local  differences  subject  to  their 
location  in  France;  portraying  likewise  through 
their  architecture  the  temper,  the  ideals,  the  very 
soul  of  the  people  who  fashioned  them. 

In  studying  these  hill-towns,  it  is  also  interest- 
ing to  note  two  distinct  ideas  in  the  use  made  of 
the  feudal  castle.  The  Norman  castle  was  built 
first  of  all  for  the  protection  of  the  people,  and 
was  in  fact  the  rude  cradle  of  our  nationalism. 
The  French  castle,  such  as  Loches  for  example, 
was  in  its  early  existence  the  stronghold  of  the 
robber  baron,  a  place  of  protection  whither  he 
might  flee  after  his  marauding  expeditions  against 
the  weak  and  unwary. 

Mrs.  Champney  has  said  "that  the  homes  of 
a  people  are  bound  up  with  the  history  of  a  peo- 
ple." Thus  in  tracing  the  history  of  these  four 
types  of  hill-towns  in  France,  I  have  endeavoured 
while  portraying  the  local  temper  and  ideals  of 
the  people,  to  trace  also  the  welding  of  these  di- 
vergent strands  into  the  united  whole  which  is  the 
wonderful  French  nation  of  to-day;  for  France  is 
composed  of  many  races,  distinct  in  type,  in  tem- 
per and  in  the  expression  of  their  ideals.  Yet  in 
the  fundamental  ideal  of  democracy  that  under- 
lies all  their  surface  differences,  they  are  united. 


PREFACE  ix 

The  awakening  in  the  eleventh  century  to  a  sense 
of  nationalism  was  a  turning  point  in  the  history 
of  France.  This  sense  of  national  unity  has 
steadily  broadened,  deepened  and  developed  un- 
til to-day  it  is  the  bedrock  of  the  nation.  De- 
mocracy is  the  ideal  for  which  France  has  fought 
and  bled  nationally  and  sectionally  since  that  first 
eleventh  century  vision  of  "Liberte,  Fraternite. 
£galite," — an  ideal  that  the  French  worship  with 
all  the  passionate  devotion  of  the  mediaeval  mys- 
tic; an  ideal  for  which  France  is  fighting  to-day 
with  a  grimness  of  determination  unequaled  in 
her  history.  For  this  ideal,  into  which  has  crept 
a  certain  universality,  France  will  die;  she  will 
never  surrender. 

Thus  in  these  four  types  of  hill-towns  found  in 
France  we  see  the  rich  variety  of  the  temper  and 
ideals  that  went  to  the  making  of  the  French  na- 
tion; while  the  various  types  of  architecture  that 
one  finds  in  these  hill-towns  reveal  the  soul  of  the 
people  who  dwelt  within  their  walls,  giving  the 
key  often  to  the  hidden  and  subtle  influences 
that  went  to  the  moulding  of  their  individual 
characteristics. 

For  permission  to  reprint  these  articles,  most  of 
which  have  appeared  from  time  to  time  in  "The 
Book  News  Monthly,"  I  wish  to  express  my  deep 


x  PREFACE 

appreciation  to  the  editor,  Norma  Bright  Carson, 
not  only  for  her  courtesy  in  this,  but  also  for  the 
never-failing  consideration  she  has  always  shown 
me. 

Five  of  these  articles  appeared  some  years  ago 
in  the  pages  of  "The  Church  Standard."  When 
it  ceased  to  be  published,  the  editor  courteously 
gave  me  full  rights  to  re-publish  them.  I  would 
therefore  express  here  my  grateful  acknowledg- 
ment. 

EUGENIE  M.  FRYER. 

Philadelphia, 
April  26,  1917. 


CHAPTER 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.  THREE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  POITOU  :     .  i 

i.  Poitiers l 

n.  Chauvigny  and  Uzerche.    .     .  9 

II.  FOUR  HILL-TOWNS  OF  NORMANDY:  19 

i.  Falaise 19 

n.  Gaillard 29 

in.  Arques-la-Bataille 39 

iv.  Mont-Saint-Michel    ....  49 

III.  FOUR  HILL-TOWNS  OF  BRITTANY:  63 

i.  Saint-Jean-du-Doigt.      ...  63 

ii.  La  Faouet 73 

in.  Dinan  and  Josselin 85 

IV.  Two  HILL-TOWNS  OF  QUERCY:     .  101 

i.  Cahors 101 

n.  Rocamadour 114 

V.  THREE   HILL-TOWNS    OF   LANGUE- 

DOC: 129 

i.  Najac,  Carcassonne,  Lastours.  129 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

VI.  THREE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  PROVENCE  :  143 

i.  Aries 143 

ii.  Montmajour  and  Les  Baux.     .  155 

VII.  A  HILL-TOWN  OF  SAVOIE:    .     .     .  165 

Miolans 165 

VIII.  A  HILL-TOWN  OF  AUVERGNE:  .     .  175 

Le  Puy 175 

IX.  A  HILL-TOWN  OF  PICARDIE:     .     .  187 

Laon 187 

X.  A  HILL-TOWN  OF  LA  BEAUCE:     .  201 

Chartres 201 

XI.  FOUR  HILL-TOWNS  OF  TOURAINE:  .  213 

i.  Chinon 213 

ii.  Amboise 224 

HI.  Blois 235 

iv.  Loches 248 


MR.  HILTON'S   ILLUSTRATIONS 

1.  POITIERS.     Notre-Dame:  le  Portail 6 

2.  CHAUVIGNY.     Chateau  des  Eveques 10 

3.  UZERCHE.     Town  Gate 17 

4.  FALAISE.     Le  Moulin  Bigot 21 

5.  "           Chateau:  La  Fenetre  de  Robert-le-Diable  22 

6.  "            St.  Gervais 27 

7.  GAILLARD.     Chateau:  the  Casemates       ....  31 

8.  "              Abbey  of  Bon  Port 34 

9.  ARQUES-LA-BATAILLE.     Chapel  Ruins  at  Radepont  47 

10.  MONT-SAINT-MICHEL.    Town  Gate       ....  53 

11.  "                        Abbey 55 

12.  "                         Cloisters 57 

13.  "  Abbey :  la  Salle  des  Cheva- 

liers      59 

14.  ST.  JEAN-DU-DOIGT.    The  Church  Gateway     .      .  68 

15.  LA  FAOUET.    Road  leading  into  the  Town     ...  74 

16.  '         "                Tower  of  St.  Barbe 75 

17.  "                The  Market  Place 79 

18.  "                Chapel  of  St.  Fiacre 81 

19.  "                Rood  Screen:  St.  Fiacre      ....  82 

20.  DINAN.     Chateau  de  la  Duchesse  Anne      ....  89 

21.  CAHORS.    Rue  de  1'Universite" 107 

22.  "             Fenetre  Renaissance,  Rue  des  Boulevards  109 

23.  ROCAMADOUR.    Stone    Staircase    leading    to    the 

Sanctuaries 118 

24.  "  Chapel  Saint  Michel:  within  the 

Sanctuaries 121 

25.  "                 The  Sanctuaries 123 

26.  NAJAC.    Street  and  Chateau 131 


xiv  ILLUSTRATIONS 

27.  CARCASSONNE.    Walls  from  Tour  Visigoth,  La  Cite  133 

28.  "                  Porte  Narbonnaise 135 

29.  LASTOURS.    Chateau  Quertinheux:  Chapel  of  St. 

Catherine 139 

30.  ARLES.    Greek  Theatre 145 

31.  "          Roman  Amphitheatre  .......  146 

32.  "         West  Door:  Saint  Trophime 150 

33.  **          Cloisters,  Saint  Trophime 151 

34.  "          Cloisters,  Saint  Trophime:  Statue  of  Saint 

Trophime 152 

35.  "          Cloisters,  Saint  Trophime:  Xllth  Century 

Capital 153 

36.  MONTMAJOUR.    Abbey  Ruins 156 

37.  MIOLANS.    Chateau:  Tour  Saint  Pierre   .     .     .     .  171 

38.  LE  PUY.    Distant  View  of  Saint-Michel- Aiguilhe       .  183 

39.  "          Doorway,  Saint-Michel- Aiguilhe     .     .     .  184 

40.  LAON.    The  Cathedral  (Exterior) 192 

41.  "         The  Cathedral  (Interior) 194 

42.  "         Colonnades  du  Palais  de  Justice    ....  197 

43.  "         L'Eglise  Saint  Martin 199 

44.  CHARTRES.    Cathedral  Doors 205 

45.  AMBOISE.    Chateau:  Interior  of  St.  Hubert's  Chapel  225 

46.  "             Doorway,  St.  Hubert's  Chapel     ...  227 

47.  BLOIS.    Gate  to  the  Chateau 239 

48.  "         Chateau:  1'Attique 241 

49.  LOCHES.    Clock  Tower 251 

50.  "           The  Donjon 253 


LIST  OF  PLATES 

LE  PUY.  The  Fagade  of  the  Cathedral  Frontispiece 

PAGE 

CHAUVIGNY.    Capitals  in  the  Church  of  St.  Peter    .     .  14 

UZERCHE.     General  View 16 

FALAISE.    The  Chateau  from  Mont  Myra 20 

GAILLARD.     General  View 29 

ARQUES-LA-BATAILLE.    The  Chateau 41 

MONT-SAINT-MICHEL.    The  Mount 50 

ST.  JEAN-DU-DOIGT.    The  Procession 69 

JOSSELIN.    The  Chateau:  Western  Fagade     ....  94 

"             The  Chateau:  Renaissance  Facade    ...  97 

CAHORS.     Pont  Valentre*  (Devil's  Bridge) no 

ROCAMADOUR.    View  from  the  Valley 116 

ARLES.    Bull  Fight  in  the  Roman  Amphitheatre  .     .     .  147 

MIOLANS.    Chateau 165 

LE  PUY.    Cathedral  Cloisters 181 

"           Polignac 185 

LAON.    General  View 188 

CHARTRES.    The  Cathedral 204 

"               Carvings  on  the  Choir  Wall 206 

CHINON.    Exterior  of  Chinon 217 

AMBOISE.    View  from  the  River 224 

BLOIS.    Colonnade  in  the  Wing  of  Louis  XII  ....  236 

*'          Foot  of  Staircase  of  Francis  I 240 

LOCHES.    The  Chateau 249 

••            Porch  of  Saint  Ours 250 

««            The  Tomb  of  Agnes  Sorel 256 

••           The  Oratory  of  Anne  of  Brittany    ....  258 


THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 


I 

THREE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  POITOU 
I.    POITIERS 

ONE  hears  much  collectively  and  separately 
of  the  hill-towns  of  Italy — of  their  beauty, 
of  their  picturesqueness,  of  their  important  part 
in  the  making  of  Italian  mediseval  history.  But 
except  for  scattered  instances,  the  hill-towns  of 
France  have  passed  unnoticed  and  unsung.  Yet, 
scanning  the  pages  of  that  marvellous  Golden  Age, 
packed  with  its  deeds  of  valour,  of  chivalry  and 
romance,  is  it  not  found  that  it  is  these  same  hill- 
towns  that  have  more  or  less  shaped  the  current  of 
these  events?  That  by  their  exalted  position  they 
have  of  necessity  commanded  situations,  and  thus 
controlled  vital  issues?  Perhaps  in  no  other  age 
was  the  hill-town  such  a  paramount  necessity. 

Wandering  through  France  to-day,  one  finds 
these  hoary  records  of  this  bygone  age,  towns 
about  which  cluster  amid  the  moss-grown,  mould- 
ering stones,  the  half-obliterated  pages  that  add 


2      THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

their  share  to  the  history  of  France.  And  in  them 
one  finds  four  distinct  types :  first,  the  large  town, 
commanded  and  protected  by  the  turrets  and  mas- 
sive towers  of  its  walls  and  citadel;  second,  the 
feudal  castle,  the  residence  of  some  great  lord 
about  whose  walls  a  straggling  town  has  grown 
up;  third,  the  fortified  town,  communal  in  char- 
acter, which,  governed  by  no  over-lord,  and  pos- 
sessed of  no  castle,  yet  protects  itself  from  inva- 
sion not  only  by  outer  walls,  but  by  fortifying 
its  houses  and  its  churches  also;  fourth,  the  mo- 
nastic hill-town,  its  defences  built  primarily  to 
defend  a  shrine. 

Poitiers,  a  hill-town  of  the  first  type,  the  large 
hill-town,  stands  picturesquely  upon  a  rugged  hill 
encircled  by  a  valley  threaded  by  the  Clain  and 
the  tributary  Boivre,  a  fertile,  undulating  valley 
studded  with  sharply  rising  slopes,  with  broad 
faces  or  tall  pinnacles  of  rock.  Along  the  south- 
ern side,  where  the  eighteenth  century  Pare  de 
Blossac  commands  a  fine  view  of  the  Clain  Valley, 
the  crumbling  fourteenth  century  ramparts, 
flanked  with  towers,  reveal  the  outgrown  strength 
of  this  mediseval  town.  The  tortuous  streets,  bor- 
dered with  quaint  medieval  houses,  climb  and 
twist  up  the  hill,  and  lead  into  several  irregular 
squares,  and  to  four  or  five  Romanesque  churches 


POITIERS  3 

remarkable  for  their  local  character  as  for  their 
wide  diversity  among  themselves.  In  the  centre  of 
the  town  rises  one  of  the  most  beautiful  examples 
of  mediaeval,  secular  architecture  extant — the 
Gothic  chateau  of  the  comtes  de  Poitou,  the 
guardian  of  the  ancient  city. 

The  history  of  this  chateau  dates  back  to  Gallo- 
Roman  times,  and  was  built  by  the  Carlovingians 
upon  the  Gallo-Roman  city  foundations.  De- 
stroyed several  times,  it  was  rebuilt  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  eleventh  century  by  William 
the  Great,  but  of  this  construction  nothing  re- 
mains. Again  rebuilt,  it  was  again  destroyed  by 
the  English  in  1346,  this  time  by  fire.  But  com- 
ing again  into  the  possession  of  the  French,  it  was 
subsequently  restored  in  1395  by  Jean  due  de 
Berry  et  comte  du  Poitou,  a  brother  of  Charles 
V.  He  not  only  rebuilt  the  gable  of  the  great 
hall  and  decorated  the  superb  chimney  that  covers 
one  end  of  this  vaulted  chamber,  but  he  also  re- 
stored the  magnificent  keep,  a  veritable  chateau, 
unique  of  its  kind,  possessing  a  great  hall  in  each 
of  its  three  vaulted  stories,  and  rooms  in  its  four 
massive  flanking  towers. 

From  earliest  times,  the  history  of  France  cen- 
tred about  this  battlemented  keep.  Across  its 
drawbridge  Charles  Martel  led  his  army  to  grap- 


4      THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

pie  with  the  Saracen  hosts,  those  same  Saracens 
who  have  left  their  influence  deep  pressed  upon 
arch  and  pediment,  that  touch  of  the  East  that  one 
finds  at  Le  Puy,  Perigueux  and  in  Provence  also. 
It  was  here  that  Charlemagne  administered  jus- 
tice, here  that  in  later  times  Charles  VII.  was  pro- 
claimed King  of  France,  and  that  Jeanne  d'Arc 
was  questioned  by  the  learned  doctors.  Thus  we 
see  gathered  about  this  city  on  a  hill  not  only  the 
history  of  France,  but  we  see  also  some  of  the 
exotic  influences  that  went  to  the  moulding  of  its 
architectural  individuality.  This  we  see  primarily 
in  its  cathedral  and  churches,  and  through  them 
we  may  catch  glimpses  of  the  people  who  wielded 
so  potent  a  force  in  the  making  of  France. 

As  it  is  true  that  when  one  steps  into  Poitou 
one  finds  a  new  type  of  people,  a  people  dark  of 
hue  and  touched  with  southern  picturesqueness,  a 
people  whose  very  speech  reveals  remnants  of  the 
Langue  d'Oc,  so  one  finds  there  also  a  new  type 
of  architecture,  an  exotic  from  the  Far  East,  an 
offspring,  at  least,  of  Indo-European  devices,  born 
in  that  age  when  the  Saracens  inundated  Spain, 
and  swept  like  a  great  tidal  wave  across  the 
Pyrenees  into  France,  leaving  behind  them  these 
traces  of  their  influence. 

There  was  another  source  from  which  Poitevin 


POITIERS  5 

architects  drew  their  inspiration — the  Romans. 
Studying  the  intersecting  Romanesque  vaults 
which  had  developed  not  from  Byzantine,  but 
from  the  unribbed,  intersecting  vault  of  the  Ro- 
mans, they  amalgamated  these  structural  ideas 
with  those  Byzantine  domes  as  revealed  in  the 
cathedral  of  St.  Front,  in  Perigueux.  Thus,  the 
ribbed  dome  descended  from  the  true  Bysantine 
dome,  and  yet  as  plainly  confessed  its  indebted- 
ness to  those  districts  where  domes  were  never 
used,  but  where  Gothic  art  was  bora. 

Again,  in  the  decoration  of  these  churches,  es- 
pecially of  Notre  Dame  la  Grande,  we  note  that 
while  the  Poitevin  sculptor  drew  from  both  these 
sources,  yet  he  had  no  such  profusion  of  originals 
from  which  to  copy  as  had  his  Provencal  neigh- 
bour. Therefore  we  find  a  more  naive  quality  in 
the  early  Poitevin  sculpture  than  in  the  Provencal 
of  the  same  period ;  we  find  it  more  elemental  and 
barbaric  both  in  conception  and  composition,  less 
skilfully  and  finely  wrought;  an  almost  grotesque 
mingling  of  the  East  and  the  West,  yet  an  indi- 
vidual expression,  a  "naturalistic  portraiture"  that 
lifted  it  to  heights  that  the  more  servile  Provengal 
students  of  antique  precedent  never  reached. 

In  St.  Radegonde,  named  after  the  Meroving- 
ian queen  who  preferred  the  solitude  of  the  cloister 


6       THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

and  the  halo  of  the  saint  to  sharing  the  golden 
crown  of  her  barbaric  husband,  we  find  another 
type  of  Romanesque  church.  In  direct  contrast 
to  the  vaults  of  Notre  Dame  la  Grande,  which 
are  semicircular  in  section  like  more  northernly 
districts,  the  ceiling  of  St.  Radegonde  consists  of  a 


Poilier*.    Notre-Dame 
La  Portail 


series  of  domical  vaults  after  the  Angevin  man- 
ner, spanning  the  wide,  simple  space,  while  high- 
placed  windows  rise  above  the  blank  arcades  that 
enrich  the  walls.  Thus,  unlike  the  ill-lighted 
church  of  Notre  Dame,  which  is  dependent  on 
its  aisle  windows  and  its  domical  lantern  for 
light,  St.  Radegonde  is  flooded  with  the  soft, 


POITIERS  7 

mellow  sunlight  that  enhances  the  beauty  of  its 
century-worn  carvings,  and  fills  the  place  with  a 
brooding  sense  of  peace. 

In  the  cathedral  of  St.  Pierre  we  see  the  blend- 
ing of  Notre  Dame  la  Grande  and  St.  Rade- 
gonde — the  local  Romanesque  church,  with  its 
nave  flanked  by  aisles  of  almost  equal  height, 
magnified  and  exalted  by  that  deepened  knowl- 
edge of  vaulting  that  the  ingenious  architects, 
through  Anjou,  had  gathered  from  Perigueux. 
While  the  exterior  is  heavy  and  unimpressive,  the 
interior  is  rich,  spacious,  luminous.  The  walls 
are  high,  and  the  windows  very  large;  the  aisles 
are  so  broad  that  the  curve  of  the  vaults  does  not 
shut  out  the  light.  In  effect,  then,  the  interior 
is  vigorous  yet  slender;  buoyant  and  airy,  yet 
majestic — the  Romanesque  reaching  up  anticipant 
of  the  winged  flights  of  the  Gothic.  It  is,  in  fact, 
the  last  word  of  the  Romanesque  in  Western 
France,  the  last  word  likewise  of  indigenous  art 
in  Poitou.  For  it  was  at  this  time  that  Poitou 
became  absorbed  into  the  domain  of  royal  France, 
its  personality  merging  with  those  new  elements 
to  be  finally  dominated  by  them. 

The  carving  of  the  tympana  of  the  canopied 
choir  stalls  is  very  fine.  In  one  of  the  corbels  of 
the  roof  we  find  a  sculptured  figure  in  stone,  bear- 


8       THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

ing  in  its  arms  a  compass  and  a  T-square,  proving 
beyond  a  doubt  a  connection  between  Masonic 
craft  and  church  building  in  the  Middle  Ages, 

The  Temple  de  St.  Jean,  dating  back  to  the 
fourth  century,  is  a  relic  of  Roman  times,  a  link 
between  the  classic  of  ancient  Rome  and  the  Ro- 
manesque. It  is  a  rectangular  building  with  a 
rudely-conceived  arcade,  used  originally  as  a  bap- 
tistry, and  is  one  of  the  oldest  in  France.  It  is 
interesting  to  note,  that  until  comparatively  re- 
cently, the  primitive  form  of  baptism  by  immer- 
sion was  preserved  in  this  old  baptistry.  And 
from  this  gaunt  relic  with  its  rude  arches  and 
carvings,  the  Poitevin  architects  doubtless  drew 
some  of  their  inspiration. 

We  see,  then,  Poitiers,  a  hill-town  of  the  first 
type,  its  chateau  and  crumbling,  battlemented 
wall  and  towers  guarding  still  the  treasures  of 
its  past — those  accumulated  treasures  of  valiant 
deeds  and  hard-earned  victories  that  its  giant 
strength  in  former  days  won  for  France.  Above 
all,  it  guards  those  architectural  treasures — treas- 
ures that  portray  the  exotic  influences  that  went 
to  the  moulding  of  its  architectural  individuality. 


II.    CHAUVIGNY  AND  UZERCHE 

THE  charm  of  life  lies  in  its  unexpected- 
ness— the  sudden  rift  in  the  mist  that  re- 
veals to  us  some  hitherto  unknown  country.  If 
one  follows  the  ambling,  sparkling  Vienne,  one 
will  come  without  warning  upon  a  quaint,  me- 
diaeval town  that  scrambles  up  the  rough,  rock- 
hewn  hill,  seeking  the  protection  of'  the  four 
gaunt  chateaux  that  spread  their  crumbling  mas- 
siveness  along  the  crest — their  greyness  melting 
into  the  cloud-swept  sky,  a  picture  full  of  soft, 
mystic  beauty.  In  this  little  town  of  Chauvigny, 
a  hill-town  of  the  second  type — the  feudal  type — 
there  is  no  suggestion  of  the  present.  It  broods 
rather  in  the  afterglow  of  past  glory,  past  achieve- 
ments. Unlike  Poitiers,  Chauvigny  owes  its  birth 
and  its  existence  to  its  baronial  chateau,  for  it  was 
about  the  feudal  chateau  of  the  Bishops  of  Poi- 
tiers that  the  straggling  town  grew  up.  This  is 
further  evidenced  by  the  fact  of  there  being  two 
towns,  the  upper  town  that  lies  within  the  outer 
castle  walls,  and  which  is  much  older  than  the 

9 


10    THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

lower  town,  which  lies  outside  the  castle  walls, 
and  which  is  spoken  of  as  the  new  town  despite 
its  mediaeval  birth. 

The  upper  town  clusters  about  the  four  great 
chateaux  that  stretch  along  the  ridge  of  the  hill, 
the  baronial  chateau  of  the  Bishops  of  Poitiers, 


Chateau  des  Eveques,  Chauvigny. 


the  Chateau  d'Harcourt,  the  Chateau  de  Mont- 
leon,  and  the  Chateau  de  Gouzon,  the  last  three 
having  been  either  fiefs  of  the  bishops,  or  ac- 
quired by  them  through  purchase  or  exchange. 
The  hill,  commanding,  as  it  does,  two  sides  of  the 
valley,  made  their  position  in  point  of  defence 
strategically  perfect,  and  well-nigh  impregnable; 
a  great  necessity  when  one  remembers  that  dur- 
ing the  Hundred  Years'  War  Chauvigny  was 


CHAUVIGNY  AND  UZERCHE        11 

from  its  situation  a  forced  participant  in  events 
of  which  Poitou  was  the  theatre.  To  one  stand- 
ing there  to-day,  looking  off  across  the  beautiful 
wooded  valley  set  in  myriad  greens — oaks,  lo- 
custs and  poplars — the  blue-gold  Vienne  winding 
its  way  northward  to  lose  itself  among  the  hills, 
the  present  fades.  The  past  looms  up  vividly — - 
Sir  John  Chandos  with  his  English  hosts,  their 
armour  flashing  in  the  sunlight,  sweeping  across 
the  plain  toward  Chauvigny;  or,  perchance,  the 
French  army  commanded  by  the  due  de  Berry  and 
the  gallant  connetable  du  Guesclin  laying  siege 
to  these  rock-bound  castles,  an  event  which  took 
place  in  1372.  Later  still  Chauvigny  took  her 
part  in  the  religious  wars,  occupied  sometimes  by 
the  rebel  prince,  the  Marquis  Charles  de  la  Roche- 
Posay,  the  Protestant  adherent;  sometimes  by  the 
Catholic  due  de  Roannez,  as  the  fortunes  of  war 
gave  the  upper  hand  to  Protestant  or  Catholic. 

There  were  but  two  approaches  to  the  chateaux, 
one  from  the  lower  town,  a  steep,  winding  way 
that  led  to  the  Porte  des  Pilliers,  a  massive  gate- 
way flanked  with  towers.  The  second  approach 
was  from  the  river,  a  narrow  and  arduous  ascent 
likewise.  The  baronial  chateau  is  the  earliest,  as 
it  is  the  largest  and  most  imposing  of  the  four 
chateaux,  its  square-faced  donjon  dating  from  the 


12     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

beginning  of  the  eleventh  century.  Its  "Chateau 
Neuf"  is  of  much  later  date — fourteenth  cen- 
tury— designed,  it  would  seem,  with  an  eye  to 
beauty  as  well  as  strength.  The  older  part  of 
the  castle  came  into  the  possession  of  the  Bishops 
of  Poitiers,  a  deed  of  gift  from  Isembert  I.,  Bishop 
of  Poitiers  from  1019-1047,  a  scion  of  the  an- 
cient family  of  Chauvigny-Chateauroux.  From 
that  time  until  the  end  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury, when  they  abandoned  the  chateau,  the  Bish- 
ops reigned  over  the  destinies  of  Chauvigny,  pow- 
erful feudal  lords,  wielding  this  power  with  no 
uncertain  hand,  and  oftentimes  to  their  own  ag- 
grandisement. High  up  in  a  mass  of  broken  wall 
in  the  "Chateau  Neuf,"  a  part  of  the  chapel  of 
St.  Michel  can  still  be  seen,  a  bit  of  late  Gothic, 
exquisite  in  spite  of  its  incompleteness.  A  series 
of  subterranean  passages  is  found  in  the  "Cha- 
teau Neuf"  also,  passages  that  lead  from  one 
tower  to  another,  to  open  out  into  the  moat,  or  be- 
neath the  ramparts  by  means  of  a  carefully  con- 
cealed postern. 

As  the  Chateau  des  Eveques,  as  it  is  sometimes 
called,  dominates  the  lower  town,  so  its  neighbour 
the  Chateau  d'Harcourt  dominates  the  valley  of 
the  Fontaine  Talbat,  a  tiny  stream  that  winds 
about  the  base  of  the  hill.  The  great  tower  dates 


CHAUVIGNY  AND  UZERCHE       13 

from  the  thirteenth  century,  and  contains  a  sort 
of  vaulted  crypt,  unique  of  its  kind,  that  was  used 
in  the  old  days  as  the  seigneurial  prison.  In  the 
flooring  above,  there  were  curiously  barred  wood- 
en trap  doors  bound  in  iron,  and  a  flue  led  from 
the  dungeon  to  this  upper  room,  enabling  the  con- 
versation of  the  prisoners  to  be  overheard.  Origi- 
nally the  chateau  belonged  to  the  vicomtes  de 
Chatellerault,  but  near  the  end  of  the  thirteenth 
century  it  passed  by  marriage  to  the  Harcourts. 
Sold  in  1447  to  Charles  d'Anjou,  Comte  du 
Maine,  it  passed  two  months  later  into  the  hands 
of  the  Bishops  of  Poitiers  in  exchange  for  an- 
other seigneurie. 

The  other  two  chateaux,  Montleon,  which  has 
been  a  ruin  since  the  fifteenth  century,  and  Gou- 
zon,  a  massive  square  keep  like  that  of  Loches, 
are  bound  up  more  or  less  with  the  history  of  the 
other  two.  Like  the  Chateau  d'Harcourt,  they  de- 
rived their  names  from  families  who  were  strang- 
ers to  the  country,  and  like  it  they  eventually  fell 
under  the  dominion  of  their  powerful  neighbour — 
the  Bishop  of  Poitiers,  also. 

But,  after  all,  the  glory  of  Chauvigny,  like 
the  glory  of  Poitiers,  rests  with  its  churches,  es- 
pecially the  remarkable  eleventh-century  church 
of  St.  Pierre,  standing  close  to  the  frowning  grey- 


14    THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

ness  of  the  Donjon  de  Gouzon — a  hoary  relic  en- 
shrining within  its  heart  the  wonder,  the  exotic 
richness  and  beauty  of  Poitevin  architecture,  in 
truth,  the  noblest  example  of  them  all.  For  at 
St.  Pierre  we  see  a  remarkable  specimen  of  the 
early  Romanesque,  far  surpassing  in  its  richly- 
carved  capitals  at  least,  either  Notre  Dame  la 
Grande  or  St.  Radegonde.  Each  chapel  roof  is 
a  compressed  dome,  but  with  no  suggestion  of  the 
groined  vaulting.  In  the  curiously  sculptured 
capitals  of  the  choir  pillars  we  find  surely  a  bar- 
baric largeness,  an  elemental  boldness  and  vigour, 
both  in  conception  and  execution,  that  harks  from 
the  East.  The  subjects  are  taken  largely  from 
the  Apocalypse,  although  the  Annunciation,  the 
birth  of  Christ,  the  Adoration  of  the  Magi  and 
the  Presentation  in  the  Temple  are  all  represented. 
The  most  curious  of  all  were  the  monster  winged 
beasts  that  so  distinctly  bespoke  Egypt  and  As- 
syria, that  grotesque  quality  so  suggestive  of  the 
East  with  its  weird,  strange  beauty,  its  mysticism, 
its  symbolism.  The  Saracen  tidal  wave  that 
swept  into  France  in  the  days  of  Charles  Martel, 
has  undoubtedly  left  the  indelible  imprint  of  its 
passing  upon  those  carven  capitals. 

Standing  once  more  by  the  Chateau  des  Eve- 
ques,  I  watched  the  shadows  creep  across  the  val- 


Chauvigny,  Pillar  Capitals  in  Church  of  St.  Pierre 


CHAUVIGNY  AND  UZERCHE        15- 

ley.  An  old  couple  wandered  up  the  street,  the 
twilight  peace  reflected  in  their  fine  ruddy  faces. 
A  quaint,  flaring  cap  framed  the  woman's  face; 
the  old  man  trudged  along,  a  wooden  grain  sickle 
over  his  shoulder — a  Millet  picture  truly.  Far 
below  echoed  faintly  the  sleepy  drone  of  daily 
life — the  mallet  of  the  stone  cutter,  the  clatter  of 
a  cart  over  the  roughshod  streets,  the  mysterious 
purr  of  hidden  waterways.  But  up  here  among 
the  ruins,  in  the  rustle  of  the  fig  tree  clinging  to 
the  donjon  wall,  one  caught  the  deeper  murmur 
of  a  mighty  past,  voicing  the  present  even  among 
its  crumbling  greatness. 

Tucked  away  in  the  heart  of  the  Limousin 
mountains,  the  little  hill-town  of  Uzerche  lies 
basking  in  the  sunset  glow  of  mediaeval  ism.  It 
represents  the  third  type — the  communal  hill- 
town — its  fortified  houses  clinging  to  the  cliff  and 
flinging  defiance  to  the  robber  baron  who  made 
bold  to  assail  its  bristling  fortifications.  Uzerche 
stands  upon  a  jagged  promontory,  formed  by  a 
cut  in  the  hills  through  which  the  Vezere  winds. 
The  Vezere  is  a  sparkling  little  river  like  its  sister 
Vienne,  its  joyous  laughter  mingling  oddly  with 
the  languorous  murmur  of  the  over-shadowing  lo- 
cust and  beech  trees — a  gleeful  note  of  melody 


16     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

interwoven  with  the  haunting,  mystic  sighing  of 
zephyrs  wafted  from  beyond  the  Pyrenees. 

Balconied  houses  overhang  steep  slopes  and 
deep  green  meadows,  while  here  and  there  rough- 
hewn  steps  lead  down  the  precipitous  hillside  to 
the  river,  where  one  gets  a  good  view  of  the  crum- 
bling fourteenth-century  walls,  walls  flanked  by 
stern,  dark  towers  against  whose  grimness  a 
solemn  poplar  rises  tall  and  slim.  In  the  distance 
a  straggling  line  of  timbered  houses  is  outlined 
against  the  purple  and  gold  sunset  sky,  another 
touch  of  picturesqueness,  another  suggestion  of 
the  far-off  Pyrenees,  even  as  the  southern  breeze 
comes  burdened  with  the  perfumed  breath  of  flow- 
ers. 

The  profusion  of  flowers  everywhere,  the  bal- 
conied houses  with  their  battlemented  turrets,  the 
swarthy,  velvety-eyed  peasants,  clad  in  corduroys, 
tam-o'-shanters,  and  broad,  red  sashes,  the  cheery 
indolence,  bespeak  the  south,  Spain  with  its  rich 
profusion,  its  beauty,  its  picturesqueness,  its 
brightness.  Along  the  steep,  straight  road,  yokes 
of  cream-coloured  oxen  toil  patiently,  urged  on  by 
the  cracking  of  the  long  whips,  and  the  mellow 
"ay-e"  of  their  masters.  Up  and  up  they  go, 
along  the  village  street  and  through  the  old  town 
gate  to  the  square  where  stands  the  century-worn 


Town  Gate, 

Uzerche. 


i8     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

church  like  some  grim-armoured  knight  who  even 
now  dares  not  cast  aside  his  weapons.  For 
Uzerche,  unlike  Poitiers  and  Chauvigny,  pos-' 
sessed  no  chateau,  but  was  dependent  for  defence 
upon  its  fortified  church  and  houses. 

The  history  of  Uzerche  lies  buried  with  its  past. 
On  its  deeds  of  arms  we  can  only  speculate,  for 
the  record  of  its  glory  is  graven  neither  in  stone, 
nor  illumined  upon  parchment.  It  lies  brooding 
in  the  sunset  glow,  brooding  with  tenderness  upon 
its  past  fraught  with  deeds  of  which  perchance  it 
is  too  proud  to  speak,  its  daily,  slow-moving  life 
tuned  to  the  dreamy  song  of  its  sparkling  river,  to 
the  low,  haunting  music  of  the  wind  sighing  in 
the  beech  trees.  And  though  Uzerche  cannot 
boast  of  such  deeds  of  national  significance  as 
echo  still  at  Poitiers  and  Chauvigny,  though  she 
can  point  to  no  such  architectural  feats  as  Notre 
Dame  la  Grande  or  St.  Pierre,  yet  she  is  from  her 
communal  character  of  vital  national  significance, 
standing  as  she  has  even  from  her  birth,  for  that 
democracy  that  is  the  strength  of  the  France  of 
to-day. 


II 

FOUR  HILL-TOWNS  OF  NORMANDY 
I.    FALAISE 

FRANCE  is  vitally  alive.  Yet  the  pulse-beat 
of  her  very  modernity  throbs  with  the  glory 
of  her  past.  Thus  one  finds  amid  the  calm  whirr 
of  modern  thrift  the  echo  of  a  past  that  was  and 
is,  the  atmosphere  still  pregnant  with  romance 
and  steeped  in  medievalism  undisturbed  by  mod- 
ernity; resting  on  its  arms,  as  it  were,  in  the  af- 
terglow of  stirring  deeds  and  heroisms.  Thus 
Falaise  represents  the  heart  of  feudalism,  despite 
the  thumb-mark  of  modern  life  that  imprints  it- 
self here  and  there  upon  its  crumbling  greyness; 
modernity  the  outgrowth  rooted  in  the  ivy-clad 
walls  of  William  the  Conqueror's  donjon  keep — 
the  same  donjon  of  which  Pierre  David  wrote; 

"Ce  donjon  si  longtemps  par  la  guerre  habite 
Voyez-le  comme  un  aigle  ouvrant  ses  aisles  grises, 
Cramponner  sur  le  sol,  ses  ongles  rocailleux." 
19 


20     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

Both  town  and  castle  stand  upon  a  cliff,  as  its 
very  name  proclaims,  set  apart  by  an  entourage 
of  walls  flanked  by  bastians  and  double  gateways 
massive  in  their  stolidity.  The  town  straggles 
down  the  lower  end  of  the  cliff  from  the  Porte  des 
Cordeliers,  the  main  entrance  to  the  castle:  thus 
the  "Cliff-town"  set  upon  this  boat-shaped  spur 
of  rock,  commands  domination  over  the  plains 
and  lowlands  broken  here  and  there  by  vast  tracks 
of  virginal  forest;  the  very  key,  indeed,  to  the 
heart  of  lower  Normandy.  It  is  set  in  the  seclu- 
sion of  the  Val  d'Ante,  scarce  bordering  the  main 
thoroughfares  of  life,  shut  in  by  mighty  trees 
that  set  it  forever  apart  within  a  sacred  grove  of 
druid  oaks ;  for  tradition  has  it  that  in  the  far-off 
unrecorded  days  Druids  did  worship  and  make 
sacrifice  where  now  the  grim  old  keep  so  proudly 
stands.  But  even  as  a  river  finds  its  source  in  the 
heart  of  the  hills,  so  in  the  hidden  valleys,  often, 
greatness  has  its  birth.  And  in  the  heart  of  the 
low  Norman  hills  of  Calvados  a  conqueror  first 
saw  the  golden  sunshine  flickering  through  the  or- 
chards of  the  Val  d'Ante, — the  Val  d'Ante  that 
clings  to  the  skirts  of  the  ancient  keep  hanging 
grim  upon  the  cliff,  seeking  thus  the  protection  of 
its  foster  mother.  For  Falaise,  despite  its  aus- 
terity, presents  a  kindliness  of  aspect,  a  brooding 


Falaise.    View  of  the  Chateau  from  Mont  Myra 


FALAISE 


21 


quality  akin  to  tenderness,  that  we  feel,  as  it 
stands  there  holding  within  its  arms  the  little  Fal- 
aisian  town  of  huddling  houses  and  quaint  streets, 
tossing,  at  least,  the  crumbs  of  its  protection  to 
this  tiny  hamlet  crouching  at  its  feet;  the  hamlet 
where  dwelt  Arlette,  the  tanner's  daughter,  the 


Le  Moulin   Bigot,  Falaise 

beautiful  young  girl  of  the  people  whom  destiny 
ordained  as  mother  of  a  conqueror;  a  destiny  re- 
vealed to  her  in  a  dream — so  says  a  trouvere — 
that  from  her  would  spring  a  tree  to  overshadow 
England  and  Normandy. 

A  rough,  winding  road  leads  up  to  the  Porte 
des  Cordeliers,  and  from  the  grass-grown  walls 
one  gets  splendid  views  of  the  chateau,  so  full 
of  the  strength  and  stateliness  of  the  Conqueror, 


22    THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

his  rude  kindliness  of  spirit  impregnating  the  place 
he  loved  so  well.  From  the  round-arched  double 
window  cut  high  in  the  donjon  wall,  the  guide  will 
point  out  the  "Fontaine  d'Arlette"  far  below, 
and  in  his  quaint,  homely  way  tell  the  century- 
worn  tale  of  Robert 
the  Magnificent's  first 
glimpse  of  the  peasant 

**-**-  beautiful> 

singing  with  Ae  "free' 

careless  rapture"  of  a 
thrush  in  May  —  who 
was  to  give  his  heart 
no  rest  till  he  had 
plucked  the  wild  flow- 
er growing  amid  the 
brown  barrenness  of  a 
chateau  tannery.  Across  the 

UFinWr.d.R,  >bl» 


tered  at  our  feet,  its  tiny  streets  tortuous  in  their 
windings,  its  time-stained,  red-tiled  roofs  moss- 
grown  in  greens  and  browns,  one  catches  a  glimpse 
of  St.  Gervais  rising  with  Norman  stateliness  of 
mien  above  the  low,  timbered  houses;  while  be- 
yond one  is  lost  amid  the  charm  of  fields  soft 
glowing  green,  poplar  lined  or  bordered  by  tower- 
ing oaks  and  fruit  trees  heavy  with  bloom.  Flow- 


FALAISE  23 

ers,  too,  lurked  like  fairies  in  the  grass,  the  whole 
country  vibrant  with  the  rapturous  note  of  spring. 
Close  beside  the  window  is  a  tiny  vaulted  room,  to 
which  tradition  points  as  William's  birthplace; 
"not  luxurious,"  as  the  guide  humorously  re- 
marked, "but  the  dark  room  was  good  for  the 
baby's  eyes." 

Falaise  dates  from  the  tenth  century,  its  primi- 
tiveness  of  type  marked  by  its  elemental  simpli- 
city of  design,  the  rude,  wide-jointed  masonry,  the 
rubble  work  and  the  rough  hewing  of  the  stones 
that  set  its  massive,  thick-built  walls  and  frown- 
ing towers  all  proving  it  of  early  date.  Norman 
work,  touched  by  the  crudeness  of  the  primitive, 
it  is  undoubtedly,  and  here,  while  we  find  traces  of 
Roman  influence,  we  may  search  in  vain  for  the 
Byzantine  character  of  work  that  has  chased  de- 
signs of  refinement  and  of  ornamentation  upon  the 
rugged  walls  of  Gaillard  and  of  those  other  castles 
of  a  century  later,  giving  them  a  gay,  mocking  air 
that  is  foreign  to  Falaise ;  for  Falaise,  though  she 
frowns  forebodingly  at  her  enemies  and  smiles 
upon  her  friends,  yet  sternness  and  benevolence 
replace  the  mocking  defiance  of  her  more  ornate 
sisters,  the  rude  kindliness  of  the  primitive  still 
clinging  about  her  as  a  mantle. 

Like  all  earlier  castles,  Falaise's  strength  cen- 


24     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

tres  in  the  great  keep  rising  above  the  guerdon  of 
towered  and  bastianed  walls,  which  in  turn  are 
surrounded  by  a  moat,  thus  completing  the  iso- 
lation of  its  rough-hewn  setting  upon  the  boat- 
shaped  spur  of  rock  that  rises  up  sheer  and  in  un- 
compromising attitude,  girded  by  the  bristling 
heights  of  Noron  and  Mont  Myra,  the  outposts  of 
its  main  defences.  These  bold,  craggy  heights  are 
splashed  in  May  with  a  mass  of  yellow  gorse  that 
shambles  up  the  steep  sides,  mingling  its  gold 
with  wild  flowers  many  hued, — those  dainty 
spring  flowers  that  grow  in  profusion  every- 
where,— a  flowered  pattern  against  the  soft, 
grassy  background  that  carpets  the  cliff's  rude 
tableland,  where  Henry  of  Navarre  trained  his 
cannon  to  do  their  deadly  work  of  assault  and 
battery,  the  power  of  those  iron  balls  cutting  deep 
upon  the  stonework  of  the  fifteenth  century  Tal- 
bot  Tower  adjoining  the  main  donjon.  Thus 
Henry,  making  a  breach,  passed  through  with  his 
troopers,  with  scarce  any  opposition,  wrenching 
the  castle  from  the  terrified  defenders,  who  struck 
but  a  feeble  blow  in  her  defence.  The  townsfolk 
he  found  of  sterner  metal,  the  women  aiding  in 
the  defence,  stemming  the  tide,  at  least  tempo- 
rarily, by  deeds  that  won  the  admiration  of  their 
foes. 


FALAISE  25 

It  was,  however,  in  the  early  days  of  cannon- 
balls,  in  the  fifteenth  century,  after  the  capture 
of  Falaise  by  the  English  Henry  V.,  that  the  beau- 
tiful Talbot  Tower  was  built,  erected  by  Henry's 
governor,  John  Talbot,  as  a  direct  consequence 
of  the  introduction  of  this  more  modern  warfare. 
Cylindrical  in  form,  it  rises  in  its  delicate  strength 
and  with  easy  grace,  one  hundred  and  eleven  feet, 
a  masterpiece  of  perfect  workmanship.  Its  stones, 
smooth  set  and  wonderfully  laid,  are  in  strange 
contrast  to  the  rough  surfaces  of  the  tenth  cen- 
tury donjon.  This  tower  was  the  last  retreat  in 
time  of  siege,  and  could  be  cut  off  entirely  from 
the  rest  of  the  castle.  And,  with  its  deep  well  of 
water,  provisions  and  a  full  store  of  ammunition, 
it  was  calculated  to  sustain  a  long,  hard  siege  with 
comparative  ease.  There  is  a  space  in  the  middle 
of  the  flooring  in  each  of  the  four  stories,  where, 
in  the  old  days,  they  might,  by  aid  of  some  crude 
device,  transport  the  ammunition  from  the  rock- 
hewn  dungeons  where  it  was  stored,  to  the  various 
floors.  The  staircases,  as  in  the  donjon  keep,  are 
all  intermural — telling  proof  of  the  great  thick- 
ness of  the  walls.  Talbot  restored  the  entire 
chateau  during  his  reign  as  governor,  beautifying 
and  adorning  his  special  apartments  with  frescoes 
and  rich  hangings.  These,  together  with  the  giant 


26    THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

fireplace,  piled  high  with  blazing  logs,  must  have 
taken  much  of  the  chill  from  the  rude  stone  walls 
of  early  feudal  days. 

But  after  all,  these  are  but  aftermaths  in  Fa- 
laise's  history,  for  her  history  and  her  heart  centre 
in  reality  about  her  "boy  Duke," — the  boy  hero 
whose  viselike  grip  and  iron  heel  were  felt  later 
by  England,  and  by  France  likewise.  Here  at 
Falaise  we  forget  his  sombre  grimness,  and  recall 
the  gallant  young  figure  of  the  boy  permeated  by 
the  sunshine  of  the  Val  d'Ante, — an  heroic  figure, 
brave  and  generous ;  above  all,  loyal  and  mindful 
of  his  mother  in  his  first  hour  of  triumph.  To 
blot  out  the  stigma  of  his  birth  swelled  his  am- 
bition, doubtless,  to  accomplishment, — the  hew- 
ing out  of  a  conqueror's  path;  but  it  was  greatness 
of  soul,  prompted  by  a  deep,  true  love,  that  made 
him  set  right  as  best  he  could  his  much-wronged 
mother,  giving  her,  by  her  marriage  with  Herl- 
win  de  Conteville,  a  position  of  honour  among  his 
peers.  As  a  boy,  then,  he  was  first  crowned  with 
laurels,  his  first  essay  at  arms  being  the  rescue  of 
his  beloved  castle  from  his  treacherous  governor, 
Toussain,  who  villainously  betrayed  his  trust  for 
gain,  handing  over  the  castle  to  the  still  more 
treacherous  French  King  Henry  without  striking 
a  blow  in  her  defence. 


FALAISE  27 

Thus  William  the  Conqueror  lingers  in  the 
minds  of  the  Falaisians  still, — the  "boy  Duke," 
the  boy  hero, — this  golden  memory  of  him  out- 
shining his  later  deeds  and  triumphs ;  the  sapling 
rooted  in  their  hearts,  rather  than  the  tall,  com- 
manding oak  that  of  a  truth  shadowed  England 


St  Gervais,  Falaise. 


as  well  as  Normandy.  And,  to-day,  as  we  wander 
amid  the  quaintness  of  the  crooked,  winding 
streets,  or  loiter  in  the  market-place  near  the  beau- 
tiful Norman  St.  Gervais,  set  in  its  hoary  silveri- 
ness  against  a  saffron  western  sky,  and  watch  the 
peasants  gathering  their  wares  and  chattels, — 
market  day  being  over, — and  dispursing  thus  to 


28     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

their  homes  in  some  neighbouring  hamlet,  we  may 
catch  far  into  the  blue  twilight  the  echo  of  a  song 
as  it  floats  up  the  Val  d'Ante  upon  the  quiet  eve- 
ning air,  redolent  of  spring: 

"De  Guillaume  le  Conquerant  chantons  1'histoirette 
II  naquit,  cet  illustre  enfant, 

D'une  simple  amourette. 
Le  hazard  fait  souvents  les  grands. 
Vive  le  fils  d'Arlette! 

Normands ! 
Vive  le  fils  d'Arlette!" 


Chateau  Gaillard 


II.    GAILLARD 

THE  air  was  redolent  of  spring.  A  sentient 
mellowness  hung  in  the  golden  sunshine  of 
the  June  afternoon,  the  spare,  grim  walls  of  Cha- 
teau Gaillard  rising  in  broken  line  from  out  the 
dazzling  whiteness  of  the  chalk  cliffs,  cliffs  capped 
by  the  soft,  velvet  green  of  sheep-cropped  grass. 
The  silence  of  the  past  brooded  upon  the  crum- 
bling walls,  save  when  a  hawk  swooped  low  with 
whirring  wings,  or  a  bat  flew  blindly  with  a  weird 
wild  cry  from  out  the  darkness  of  an  old  secret 
passage  in  a  deserted  tower.  Far  below  the  Seine 
bent  upon  itself,  exposing  thus  two  sides  of  access 
and  approach  to  those  who  manned  the  cliff-set 
castle,  Richard's  beloved  "daughter  of  a  year." 
While  resting  in  the  causeway  of  the  tide,  the 
wooded  Isle  St.  Jacques  all  shimmering  lay,  mem- 
ory lingering  round  the  board  once  laden  with 
country  cheese,  fresh  eggs  and  foaming  milk,  par- 
taken by  the  castle  folk  with  all  due  relish  and 
enjoyment;  secured  from  interruption  and  surprise 
they  were  by  fortressed  means,  and  a  subterranean 
passage  connecting  farm  and  castle. 
29 


30     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

Down  by  the  river  bank  tradition  hints  also  of 
a  great  flanking  tower,  captured  quite  early  by  the 
French  in  the  famous  siege,  and  used  by  them, 
the  pivot  of  their  operations,  ending  at  last  in  the 
surrender  of  that  gallant  band  of  those  be- 
sieged,— forced  upon  them  some  would  intimate 
by  disaffection, — the  disloyalty  of  one :  a  postern 
left,  by  chance,  unguarded;  the  hole  through 
which  the  enemy  might  drive  an  entering  wedge. 
So  did  King  Philip  Augustus  capture  Richard's 
darling  built  to  defy  him  and  his  heirs,  Richard 
striving  thus  to  guard  the  borderland  between 
France  and  Normandy  commanding  also  the 
great  highway  to  the  sea.  Richard  was  as  de- 
fiant and  daring  as  the  wild,  brave  Rollo,  his  an- 
cestor, building  and  destroying  with  the  same 
generous  hand;  raising  to-day  a  stronghold  of  de- 
fence, to-morrow  pledging  an  abbey  if  he  make 
"Bon  Port" ;  a  builder  and  a  warrior  in  one,  like 
the  Conqueror,  though  less  stable  than  that  Wil- 
liam who  fought  and  built  and  ruled  so  strongly. 
The  walls  of  this  fair  "daughter"  are  impregnated 
with  the  sunshine  of  Richard  Cceur  de  Lion's  na- 
ture, his  gay  laughter  lingering  still  in  cracks  and 
crannies,  echoing  hollow  in  those  rugged  casemates 
hewn  out  of  the  chalk,  facing  the  inner  moat  about 
the  keep  and  giving  access  to  the  outei  castle  by  a 


GAILLARD  31 

network  of  subterranean  passageways.  The  jest 
and  song  and  clink  of  wine  cup  mingle  with  the 
hoarse  note  of  sterner  life,  of  war  and  its  fierce 
battle  cries,  and  groans  of  men  sore  wounded  unto 
death ;  of  clamorous  victors  grasping  at  her  throat, 
heard  in  the  shrieking  wind  of  ice-bound  storms, 


The  Case  mates.  Chateau  Gaillard. 

rousing  the  spirits  thus  to  man  the  walls  anew, 
and  to  hurl  death  upon  ethereal  foes. 

While  in  the  soft  twilight,  in  the  afterglow  of 
a  setting  northern  sun,  a  figure  veiled  and  lightly 
draped  wanders  with  stately  tread  along  the  dusk- 
grown,  stone-set  passages  hung  heavily  with  the 
mystic  past;  the  arras  thrown  aside  revealing  a 
foul  deed,  the  stench  of  human  blood  rising  from 


32     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

those  great  bloodstains  drunk  eagerly  by  the  cold, 
heartless  stones  of  porous  floor.  A  woman's  voice 
is  heard  beseeching;  a  harsh  answer;  a  blow;  a 
piteous  cry;  then  dark  silence  unbroken  by  the 
ages,  dust-covered  and  buried  in  the  mouldering 
walls;  yet  writ  past  all  erasing  on  the  heart  of 
that  foul  murderer,  his  name  forgotten,  known 
simply  by  the  blot  upon  his  escutcheon.  In  a 
towered  corner  of  the  thick-set  wall,  under  the 
shadow  of  the  keep  itself,  the  frail  young  queen 
of  Louis  X.,  "Le  Hutin,"  Margaret  of  Burgundy, 
was  held  in  bondage,  strangled  at  last  with  the 
long  coils  of  her  hair;  her  crime,  Louis'  defection, 
his  fickle  heart  seeking  its  setting  in  a  new  flame 
of  queenly  radiance.  Louis  has  sunk  into  ob- 
scurity, forgotten  beneath  long  centuries  of  dust; 
but  the  voice  of  her  he  killed  goes  crying  down 
the  night,  shrilling  the  walls  with  ghostly  echoes 
of  her  mad  terror  and  reproachful  callings — a 
wandering  soul  disquieted.  David  Bruce  spent  his 
period  of  exile  here,  sitting  at  evening,  perchance, 
upon  the  walls  with  his  young  bride  Jane,  and 
gazing  off  over  the  rolling  reach  of  fertile  country 
intersticed  by  the  silver  Seine  glinting  now  here, 
now  there,  as  it  winds  in  snake-like  loops  among 
the  green  and  brown  and  golden  yellow  of  the 
grain. 


GAILLARD  33 

Across  the  sweep  of  river  flowing  so  steadily  at 
the  foot  of  the  chateau,  clings  the  tattered  shreds 
of  an  old  mill,  the  secret  way  of  escape  known 
only  to  Richard  and  his  Moorish  physician;  en- 
tered by  panelled  means  from  some  brooding 
tower,  and  leading  thence  beneath  the  river  to 
this  seclusion,  where  a  boat  provisioned  and  full- 
oared  lay  ever  ready  to  ply  swiftly  hence  to  safety. 
One  can  in  fancy  picture  the  armoured  hosts  of 
Philip  Augustus*  army  crowding  down  by  the 
river  bank,  or  lining  the  hill  across  the  deep  ra- 
vine, the  rocky  bed  in  those  days  for  the  swift 
rushing  of  a  mountain  torrent,  the  Gambon  so  it 
was  called.  The  Little  Andelys  crouches  at  the 
castle's  feet,  with  quaint,  shambling  houses  and 
a  fine  church  noted  for  its  architectural  purity,  its 
thin-lanterned  spire  a  strange  contrast  to  the 
blunted  castle  towers  clinging  to  the  sheer 
whiteness  of  the  cliff.  Wherever  one  goes  one 
sees  these  two  powers,  military  and  religious,  ris- 
ing side  by  side,  and  we  question  which  was  the 
outcome  of  the  other:  one  maintaining  itself  by 
pure  brute  strength,  wholly  external;  the  other 
by  an  inward  spiritual  grace,  the  internal  domi- 
nating by  the  very  force  of  its  spirituality,  proving 
itself  the  stronger  in  that  it  has  outlasted  by  cen- 
turies turreted  walls  and  entrance  ways.  The 


34     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

feudal  lords  protected  themselves  thus  from  their 
fierce  foes,  defying  kings  and  commoners  alike, 
shutting  themselves  within  their  strongholds, — 
mere  nests  of  robbers  often, — and  in  expiation  of 
their  sins  building  a  church  or  abbey  as  a  votive 
offering,  a  sop,  perhaps,  to  an  overladen  con- 
science. Thus  Richard,  the  impetuous,  the  gen- 


'  Oaillarct.  j — .. 

Abbey  of  Ben  Tori 


erous,  the  brave,  has  left  behind  him  at  least  one 
abbey  built  at  his  instigation,  the  beautiful  old 
abbey  of  Bon  Port,  a  mark  of  his  impulsiveness. 
One  day  when  out  hunting  near  Gaillard,  he  some- 
how got  separated  from  the  others,  the  great  stag 
which  he  was  recklessly  pursuing,  crashing 
through  the  forest  only  to  plunge  at  length  into 
the  Seine.  The  water  boiled  and  seethed,  for  the 
season  of  the  Mascaret  was  at  hand,  and  the  on- 
rush of  the  waters  was  more  than  a  match  for 


GAILLARD  35 

Richard's  own  turbulence  of  spirit.  Yet  even 
Richard's  valiant  courage  quailed  before  this 
dominant  power  as  he  felt  his  horse,  despite  heroic 
efforts,  being  swept  up-stream.  Then  it  was  that 
Richard,  perforce  acknowledging  a  power  greater 
than  he,  vowed  that  if  he  reached  the  shore,  mak- 
ing thus  "bon  port,"  he  would  erect  an  abbey 
there  upon  the  river  bank,  a  thank-offering  for  his 
deliverance, — a  vow  he  did  not  fail  to  fulfil.  To- 
day one  may  see  still,  though  the  abbey  church 
itself  is  but  outlined  by  the  long  line  of  pillar 
bases,  the  refectory,  exquisite  in  its  simplicity  of 
design,  the  east  window  but  four  pointed  lancets 
surmounted  by  three  small  roses.  The  monastic 
buildings  are  also  preserved,  the  habitation  now 
of  a  Parisian  family. 

But  this  is  but  a  happening  in  Richard's  life, 
not  the  main  stem  of  his  building  activity;  nor 
is  it  in  ecclesiastical  architecture  that  his  great  en- 
gineering genius  has  left  its  stamp.  Cognisant  as 
he  was  in  the  art  of  war,  with  a  horizon  of  ex- 
perience touching  the  Orient  as  well  as  France, 
his  analytic  mind  grasped  problems  of  defence 
hitherto  unsolved;  resolving  themselves  at  last 
in  his  "fair  daughter  of  a  year."  At  Gaillard  we 
see  the  first  chateau  built  with  an  eye  to  strategic 
possibilities;  so  it  displays  an  intellectuality  not 


36    THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

found  in  the  round  towers  and  thick-set  walls  of 
earlier  castles.  Each  part  was  built  with  a  special 
end  in  view,  with  other  means  than  mere  strength 
determined  by  the  thickness  of  a  wall,  though  that 
was  not  forgotten  either.  The  main  work  sits 
firmly  upon  the  edge  of  the  precipitous  cliff,  and 
is  composed  of  three  parts :  a  donjon;  a  citadel  sur- 
rounded by  a  deep,  dry  fosse;  while  beyond  that 
spreads  an  outer  court  enclosed  by  towered  ram- 
parts, and  cut  off  from  the  outworks  by  a  second 
dry  fosse,  deep-hewn  from  the  cliffs  of  chalk, 
sheer  and  uncompromising,  in  defiant  mood.  Its 
one  weak  point  is  the  narrow  stair  leading  from 
the  citadel  into  the  donjon  keep  itself;  for  thus 
an  enemy,  having  taken  the  outer  court,  might 
from  the  walls  pick  off  the  retreating  men  one 
by  one,  as  for  a  second  they  must  stand  exposed 
and  alone  in  seeking  safety  in  their  last  retreat. 
Thus  did  Philip  Augustus,  gaining  access  to  the 
castle  by  treacherous  means,  wrest  Chateau  Gail- 
lard  from  the  English  in  1203:  Richard's  "darl- 
ing daughter  of  a  year"  brought  low  by  one  man's 
defection. 

As  the  sun  sank  in  the  Orient-hued  west,  tinting 
Gaillard's  silvered  walls  to  flashing  gold,  her  for- 
mer glory  burned  itself  upon  me ;  her  power  also, 
and  her  massive  strength ;  the  grim  defiance  of  her 


GAILLARD  37 

mood  still,  even  in  her  withered  beauty;  her  gay, 
mocking  laughter  echoing  far  across  the  valley. 
As  we  wandered  down  in  the  blue  twilight,  my 
friend  and  I,  two  boys  caught  up  the  strain,  mock- 
ing our  foreign  mode  of  speech.  Descendants, 
doubtless  they  were,  of  those  selfsame  men  who 
reared  this  mighty  castle  of  defence,  but  to  be 
cast  out  by  her  in  their  time  of  need  during  the 
great  siege.  Seeking  "bon  port"  they  were  thrown 
back  upon  the  enemy  to  pay  starvation's  wage, 
caught  literally  between  two  fires  from  which  they 
might  neither  retreat  nor  advance.  My  friend,  ex- 
asperated at  last  beyond  endurance  by  the  boys' 
persistent  mocking,  snatched  my  tripod,  and  pull- 
ing out  one  of  the  legs,  flew  at  them  crying  in  a 
voice  worthy  of  Richard  himself,  "Depechons  gar- 
cons  !"  The  boys,  terror-stricken  at  the  sudden  on- 
slaught, turned  and  fled,  hurling  back  at  us  as  they 
ran:  "Assassins!  Criminelles !"  until  the  scarred 
walls  of  the  chateau  awoke  with  echoes,  the  slum- 
bering past,  so  rudely  awakened,  deeming  us  ene- 
mies where  we  would  have  claimed  kinship. 

Chateau  Gaillard  sits  grim,  defiant  still,  look- 
ing down  from  her  vantage  point  with  a  half 
mocking  smile;  yet  in  the  gathering  night  cling- 
ing in  softer  mood  to  the  great  cliff  that  guards 
her  entrance  ways:  the  expression  truly  of  the 


38     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

great  genius  who  gave  her  birth,  the  imprint  of 
his  character  stamped  upon  her  time-worn  walls 
and  toppling  towers ;  the  key,  of  a  truth,  that  sets 
the  temper  of  Richard  Cceur  de  Lion's  heart. 


III.    ARQUES-LA-BATAILLE  AND  GISORS 

ON  every  height,  Goethe  says,  there  lies  re- 
pose. On  the  heights  of  Arques-la-Ba- 
taille  there  lies  the  repose  of  bygone  strength,  the 
silvered  calm  of  crumbling  walls,  indicative  of 
power  departed,  of  an  age  that  conceived  the 
rude  cradle  of  modern  nationalism.  Like  all  Nor- 
man chateaux,  Arques  commands  a  strategic  po- 
sition. Its  bulky,  thick-set  towers  and  mighty 
donjon  keep  are  poised  like  a  great  bird  of  prey 
upon  the  emerald  cliff  that  rises  precipitously 
amid  the  broad  green  valley  of  the  Arques,  a  val- 
ley shot  with  the  silver  threads  of  quiet  streams, 
that  meeting  like  twin  souls,  together  seek  the 
vast  infinitude  of  sea  some  three  miles  distant. 
Bordered,  too,  it  is  on  the  northeast  by  a  deep 
forest  that  stretching  out  endlessly,  melts  into 
the  dimness  of  a  cloud-flecked  horizon;  the  grey 
eagle  perched  in  the  solitude  of  craggy  heights, 
girt  about  by  drowsy  streams,  yet  within  sound  of 
the  restless,  pulsing  sea  pounding  ceaselessly,  re- 
lentlessly, upon  the  seon-worn  cliffs  of  Dieppe. 
Over  this  vast  expanse  of  fertile  pasture  land, 

39 


40    THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

above  the  grey  town  crouching  at  its  feet,  the  eagle 
hovers,  poised  in  flight  upon  the  green-carpeted 
chalk  promontory,  alert,  confident,  defiant,  fling- 
ing the  gauntlet  to  the  bold  stranger  who  dares 
molest  his  lair.  Fight  it  will  to  the  last  gasp  in 
defence  of  its  beloved  Normandy,  at  whose  gates 
it  stands  a  sentinel  on  guard,  protecting  its  loved 
mistress  with  the  rude  tenderness  and  chivalry  of 
a  mediaeval  knight;  all  petty  family  quarrels  and 
jealousies  between  neighboring  domains  forgotten 
when  she  is  threatened  with  danger.  Thus  at 
Arques  we  see  the  difference  in  construction  as 
well  as  in  conception  between  the  Norman  and 
the  French  chateau.  The  Norman  chateau  was 
built  primarily  to  defend  a  territory,  not,  as  in 
the  French  chateau,  a  feudal  domain.  It  com- 
manded passageways,  and  was  built  on  a  far 
larger  scale  in  order  to  accommodate  greater  num- 
bers of  men,  arms  and  ammunition;  whereas  the 
early  French  chateau  was  smaller,  all  the  intel- 
lectual faculties  of  their  builders  being  turned  to 
personal  defence.  So  feudalism,  awakening  as  it 
did  in  Normandy  individual  responsibility,  be- 
came indeed  the  rude  cradle  of  modern  national- 
ism, welding  men  together  by  pride,  by  patriotism, 
by  deathless  love ;  developing  in  them,  too,  a  big- 
ness of  soul  that  rose  above  the  petty,  ignoble 


ARQUES-LA-BATAILLE  AND  GISORS     41 

jealousies  of  factional  quarrels  and  family  feuds. 
A  hard  bed,  you  will  say,  in  which  to  be  nurtured ; 
yet  muscle  can  not  be  developed  on  a  bed  of  eider- 
down, and  the  child  of  such  upbringing  is  the 
hardier  for  it. 

Except  on  the  northeastern  side,  the  cliff  drops 
sheer  to  the  plain,  and  this  side  is  protected  by  an 
outer  line  of  walls  that  forms  a  lower  court,  or 
"Bailie"  as  it  was  called.  A  ragged  line  of  houses 
straggles  up  the  one  winding  street  of  the  town 
to  a  small  square,  and  from  thence  a  narrow  lane 
leads  precipitously  up  between  wisteria-laden 
walls  to  the  great  towered  entrance  that  even  now 
in  its  shorn  beauty  commands  and  defies  as  a  gruff 
watch-dog  bars  the  entrance  to  an  open  gate. 
Stripped  by  marauders  of  their  outer  dress  of 
stone,  the  walls  and  towers  reveal  their  inner 
selves,  the  thin  courses  of  Roman  brick  the  ster- 
ling soul  of  them  that  until  recent  years  lay  hid- 
den behind  their  stone-masked  faces.  No  known 
record  exists  as  to  whether  this  was  the  former 
site  of  a  Roman  camp,  and  yet,  it  seems  to  me, 
these  bricks  plead  eloquently  with  time's  forget- 
fulness. 

The  ruins  as  they  exist  to-day  were  begun  in  the 
eleventh  century  by  William,  Count  of  Arques,  a 
half  uncle  of  the  Conqueror's,  an  unscrupulous 


42     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

man  whose  first  act  after  obtaining  his  countship 
was  one  of  treacherous  defiance  of  his  nephew,  to 
whose  generosity  he  owed  his  title  and  his  chateau 
site.  Safely  ensconced  behind  his  nigh  impreg- 
nable walls,  he  gathered  together  the  disloyal  and 
discontented  nobles  and  prepared  to  dispute  Wil- 
liam the  Conqueror's  right  to  his  dukedom  because 
of  illegitimacy.  The  plot  failed  miserably,  in  that 
William  with  his  usual  vigour,  promptly  lay  siege 
to  Arques,  blockading  it  by  a  deep  fosse  of  coun- 
tervallation  so  effectively  that  after  a  futile  ap- 
peal to  the  French  king  the  besieged  were  obliged 
to  capitulate;  and  the  "Bastard  of  Normandy" 
was  superceded  forever  in  their  minds  by  "Wil- 
liam the  Conqueror,"  to  whom  they  ever  after 
gave  unwavering  allegiance. 

All  the  subtle  genius  of  the  Norman  builder  is 
portrayed  at  Arques,  the  recessed  approach  to  the 
giant  donjon  keep  through  two  outer  courts,  each 
guarded  by  frowning  gateways,  the  ground  slop- 
ing gradually  upward  toward  this  central  pivot 
of  the  castle's  strength ;  the  oblique  position  of  the 
donjon,  that  not  only  masks  the  court  behind  it, 
but  commands  the  outworks  likewise,  its  eaglelike 
claws  gripping  the  cliff  as  it  hangs  over  the  yawn- 
ing fosse,  swift  to  swoop  upon  its  prey ;  and  above 
all,  the  cleverness  with  which  the  chateau  walls 


ARQUES-LA-BATAILLE  AND  GISORS     43 

are  reared,  not  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  which  its 
natural  defences  might  well  warrant,  but  set  back 
some  fifty  feet,  giving  place  for  the  deep  dry  fosse 
that  adds  thus  tenfold  to  its  impregnability.  An 
arched  passageway  leads  beneath  the  donjon  to  a 
heavily-guarded  postern  that,  by  means  of  a  draw- 
bridge, gave  access  to  the  hillock  beyond,  crested 
by  earthen  palisades,  traces  of  which  remain. 
Yet,  after  all,  Arques'  greatest  strength  lies  in  its 
hidden  power;  for  its  vast  network  of  subterra- 
nean passageways,  by  which  the  besieged  might 
make  sudden  sorties  into  the  moat,  were  a  power- 
ful means  not  only  of  attack,  but  also  of  inter- 
rupting any  undermining  schemes  of  the  enemy, 
a  scheme  often  resorted  to  effect  an  entrance. 

Arques'  history  is  a  bloody  one,  for  it  lay  within 
the  theatre  of  the  French  and  Norman  struggle 
for  domination,  and  of  France's  final  wresting  of 
Normandy  from  England.  The  debatable 
ground,  it  might  be  called,  and,  although  it  fig- 
ured in  Henry  of  Navarre's  victory  over  the 
League  in  1589,  Arques'  last  stand  was  in  re- 
ality made  against  Philip  Augustus.  He,  masking 
his  greed  behind  the  slim  form  of  Arthur  of  Brit- 
tany, whom  a  cruel  uncle  had  not  only  defrauded 
of  a  duchy,  but  had  also  murdered,  marched 
against  these  border  castles,  taking  them  one  by 


44     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

one, — Radepont,  Gaillard,  Arques, — the  eagle 
caught  at  last  in  the  mesh  of  its  own  toils,  even 
as  it  poised  to  swoop  upon  its  prey.  Richard 
Coeur  de  Lion  was  dead,  and  the  eagle  perched 
upon  the  heights  of  Arques,  drooped  and  pined 
for  its  lost  leader. 

Across  the  hills  and  valleys  lying  between, 
Philip  Augustus  had  led  his  hosts  by  a  circuitous 
route  to  this  grey  outpost  by  the  sea.  Gisors  was 
the  starting  point,  the  capital  of  the  Norman 
Vexin  that  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion  had  ceded  to 
him  by  the  treaty  of  Issoudon,  an  error  Richard 
strove  to  rectify  by  rearing  his  fair  daughter  Gail- 
lard  on  the  heights  of  Les  Andelys,  a  menace  that 
for  a  time  checkmated  many  an  ambitious  scheme 
of  the  French  king.  Gisors  is  a  masterpiece  of 
military  engineering,  its  great,  gaunt  walls  rising 
above  the  wooded  heights  overshadowing  the 
quaint  old  town  clinging  to  the  rugged  hillside; 
while  at  its  feet  the  swift-flowing  Epte  glides  si- 
lently toward  the  sea.  It  stands  amid  giant  shade 
trees  moody  and  sullen,  silent  even  to  grimness, 
as  if  brooding  upon  the  past  so  full  of  stirring 
scenes  and  history-making  deeds  and  pageantries. 
Built  by  Robert  de  Belleme  for  William  Rufus, 
it  differs  from  both  Falaise  and  Gaillard,  and 
even  Arques  in  its  construction.  Here  the  great 


ARQUES-LA-BATAILLE  AND  GISORS     45 

square  keep  is  the  central  point  about  which  the 
walls  are  gathered,  not  perched,  as  with  the  other 
three,  upon  the  edge  of  the  cliff.  Gisors  has  none 
of  the  wild,  reckless  quality  of  bold  adventure, 
but  rather  the  conservatism  of  restraint;  a  re- 
serve that  tends  to  stolidity  rather  than  viril 
power;  brooding  melancholy  than  ecstatic  joy  and 
buoyancy.  The  ruins  of  the  Romanesque  chapel 
dedicated  to  St.  Thomas  of  Canterbury  are  a  hall- 
mark of  the  English  occupation,  a  memory  of  the 
murdered  bishop  lingering  among  the  "thrust 
hills"  of  the  Vexin.  Philip  Augustus  built  the 
massive  round  "Tour  du  Prisonnier,"  a  stately 
tower  some  sixty  feet  in  height,  and  looking  sleep- 
ily down  upon  the  red-tiled  roofs  of  the  little  town 
that  as  yet  is  scarce  awakened  by  the  whirr  of 
modern  progress.  Within  the  tower,  in  the  almost 
pitch  blackness  of  its  foundations,  the  guide  will 
show  you  some  rude  sculpturings,  the  Way  of  the 
Cross,  cut  by  the  Chevalier  Poulain,  his  only  im- 
plement a  nail,  to  wile  away  the  agonised  monot- 
ony of  twenty- two  years'  sojourn  within  this  veri- 
table pit  of  black  despair;  the  refined  cruelty  of 
Louis  XL  voiced  of  a  truth  in  the  short  inscription 
scratched  at  the  end  of  the  "Way  of  the  Cross"; 
"O  Mater  Dei,  memento  mei,  Poulain."  Who 
may  picture  the  exquisite  agony  of  the  solitary 


46     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

prisoner,  or  compass  the  blackness  of  his  dire  hope- 
lessness ?  A  Way  of  the  Cross  it  was  surely,  with 
only  the  pencilled  ray  of  light  from  the  slit  win- 
dow in  his  prison  wall  to  foretell  the  glorious  ra- 
diance beyond. 

Forth  from  the  gates  of  Gisors,  then,  Philip 
Augustus  rode  one  bright  autumn  day  to  lay 
siege  to  Chateau  Gaillard,  that  gay,  defiant 
daughter  of  Richard's,  who,  ever  a  menace  and 
a  danger,  must  be  brought  into  subserviency;  an 
easier  task  now  that  she  rested  under  the  guar- 
dianship of  her  weak,  despicable  uncle,  John 
Lackland:  a  task  at  last  accomplished,  though  at 
heavy  cost.  During  the  siege  Philip  Augustus 
struck  another  blow  at  Norman  power  in  the 
capture  of  Radepont,  one  of  the  chain  of  castles 
by  which  Richard  hoped  to  bar  the  inroads  of  the 
ambitious  French  king.  Nothing  remains  to-day 
but  the  picturesque  "Tour  Jean-sans-Terre,"  the 
chapel,  an  archway  and  a  few  crumbling,  ivy- 
grown  walls  that  cling  to  the  side  of  a  heavily 
wooded  gorge,  fragrant  with  the  delicate  odour  of 
wild  flowers,  luxuriant  in  their  bloom  and  col- 
oured carpetings.  Away  from  the  great  river  road, 
it  rests  dreamily  within  sound  of  the  gently  mur- 
muring Andelle,  the  limpid  stream  that  wanders 


ARQUES-LA-BATAILLE  AND  GISORS     47 

down  the  deep,  green  valley  to  add  its  historied 
record  to  that  of  the  Seine's  own.  A  brooding 
tenderness  impregnates  this  hidden  vale  of  peace, 
where  poetry  dwells  amid  the  hedgerows  and  the 
songs  of  sweet-throated  warblers  fill  the  woods 
with  melody ;  a  peace 
that  lingers,  too, 
about  the  old  Abbey 
of  Fontaine-Guerard 
standing  at  the  end 
of  the  valley,  and 
within  whose  walls 
Marie  de  Ferrieres 
lies  quietly  sleeping. 
Here  we  feel  the 
poesy,  all  the  dreamy 
sentiency  and  love  of 
beauty  of  France  set 
over  and  against  the 
sterner,  cool,  analytic 
practical  side;  her  endless  perseverance  in  accom- 
plishment, too,  that  has  made  her  great :  and  it  is 
this  two-sided  character  of  hers  that  has  preserved 
the  balance  wheel  of  her  vitality  and  her  power. 
Radepont  and  Gaillard  having  fallen,  Philip 
Augustus  came  finally  to  Arques,  that  faithful 
guardian  of  a  dukedom,  the  grey  eagle  made  cap- 


48    THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

tive   at   last   by   a   power   overwhelming  in  its 
strength. 

Thus  we  see  in  each  of  these  old  chateaux  a 
marked  personality,  an  individuality  and  unique- 
ness that  permeates  each  one  with  an  interest  all 
its  own :  they  are  vitally  alive.  Yet  we  hear  the 
sceptic  marvel  at  one's  ability  to  see  anything  in 
"cold  grey  heaps  of  stone."  If  as  Callige  has 
poetically  phrased  it,  "memory  is  the  twilight  of 
the  soul,"  so  I  think,  in  these  grey  piles  of  stone, 
resting  in  the  dim  coolness  of  their  evening  hour, 
we  shall  find  the  spirit  of  their  age  lingering  even 
as  the  memory,  embedded  of  a  truth  in  the  na- 
tionalism of  our  own  modernity.  And  while 
people  flit  to  and  fro  on  the  surface  of  events  and 
centuries,  at  times  ruffling  placidity  even  to  a 
tidal  wave,  yet  is  it  not,  after  all,  their  works  that 
do  follow  them?  It  is  works  impregnated  by  the 
spirit  that  conceived  them  that  become  the  mouth- 
piece of  the  ages  eone. 


IV.    MONT-SAINT-MICHEL 

THERE  is  a  fourth  type  of  hill-town  that 
one  finds  in  France,  the  monastic  hill-town, 
a  hill-town  fortified  to  defend  a  shrine.  To  this 
type  Mont-Saint-Michel  belongs.  Far-off  Le  Puy 
and  Rocamadour  belong  also  to  this  type,  yet  all 
three  are  distinctly  individual,  the  product  of 
their  environment,  the  embodiment  of  the  tem- 
per of  the  race  that  fashioned  them.  Both  Le 
Puy  and  Rocamadour,  especially  Le  Puy,  are  per- 
vaded with  the  mysticism,  the  incense-steeped, 
feminine  beauty  of  Bysantium;  Mont-Saint-Mi- 
chel is  wholly  western,  dominated  by  the  "mascu- 
line, warlike  energy"  of  the  Norman  who  has  im- 
printed upon  his  architecture  the  virility,  the 
simple  directness  of  his  race,  this  militant  spirit 
symbolised  by  the  armour-clad  figure  of  Saint 
Michel  crowning  the  lantern  of  the  great  abbey 
church;  symbol,  too,  of  the  close  union  of  church 
and  state,  of  God  and  man,  of  the  spiritual  and 
the  material  working  together  without  discord, — 
the  keynote,  really,  of  the  eleventh  century.  In 
position  there  is  a  certain  similarity  between 
49 


50    THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

Mont-Saint-Michel  and  Le  Puy.  Both  stand  ma- 
jestic and  triumphant  upon  a  pinnacle  of  rock;  but 
the  shrine  of  Auvergne  crowning  Mont  d'Anis, 
overlooks  a  billowy  sea  of  grey-green  fields  and 
pasture  land  rimmed  by  the  snow-clad  peaks  of 
the  Cevennes;  Mont-Saint-Michel  rises  out  of  a 
northern  sea  that  for  centuries  has  hurled  its 
strength  without  avail  against  those  walled  and 
crenellated  heights.  Yet  Mont-Saint-Michel  as- 
sailed by  the  bitting  north  wind  and  by  a  northern 
sea,  is  not  alien  to  Le  Puy;  for  many  a  Norman 
duke  and  belted  knight  were  of  that  host  of  cru- 
saders who  paused  to  pray  at  the  shrine  of  Our 
Lady  of  Le  Puy,  and  who  brought  back  with 
them  rich  gifts  from  the  East,  together  with 
Eastern  ideas  of  art  and  architecture.  It  was  the 
vigour  of  the  Norman  race  that  transformed  the 
Romanesque  into  so  distinct  a  type  that  it  gave 
its  name  to  the  architecture  of  Normandy. 
Therein  also  lies  the  difference  in  the  expression 
of  their  worship. 

Like  Le  Puy,  Mont-Saint-Michel  was  the  site 
of  a  Roman  temple  dedicated  to  Jupiter,  and  was 
known  in  those  days  as  Mons  Tumba.  Here  also 
Druids  set  up  their  mystic  stones  to  worship,  hav- 
ing found  their  way  along  the  Roman  road  that 
led  through  the  green  forest  of  Scissy  to  the  Mont, 


MONT-SAINT-MICHEL  5 1 

rising  in  the  midst  of  this  great  forest  of  oaks  and 
beeches;  for  in  those  days  the  sea  marked  the 
horizon  line  so  distant  was  it.  It  was  not  until 
the  eighth  century  when  Aubert,  the  good  bishop 
of  Avaranches,  at  the  command  of  Saint  Michel 
was  building  the  first  Christian  shrine,  which  he 
dedicated  to  the  archangel,  that  a  severe  earth- 
quake caused  a  tidal  wave  that,  sweeping  in,  swal- 
lowed up  the  forest  and  isolated  the  Mont  and 
Tombelaine,  forming  the  vast  bay  of  Saint-Mi- 
chel, and  making  the  Mont  the  most  picturesque 
and  unique  spot  in  the  world. 

There  is  something  more  than  mere  strength 
and  savagery  that  grips  one  at  Mont-Saint-Mi- 
chel. Beauty  of  form  and  line  are  mingled  with 
that  strength,  a  beauty  that  has  been  mellowed 
and  enhanced  by  the  centuries  that  have  swept 
over  those  scarred  and  battered  walls,  over  the 
face  of  this  mountain  of  the  sea  crowned  by  its 
abbey  church.  Seen  in  the  soft  sunset  glow  of  a 
May  day,  one  feels  its  grandeur  and  aloofness, 
its  beauty  and  its  strength  so  subtly  blended  that 
they  are  one,  the  material  not  only  permeated  by 
the  spiritual,  but  lifted  up  and  embodied  by  that 
which  is  divine.  The  first  glimpse  of  this  hill- 
town  of  the  sea,  is  a  sight  never  to  be  forgotten, — 
the  massive  bastions  and  battlemented  heights, 


52     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

the  moss-grown  houses  of  the  little  town  clinging 
to  the  sheer  sides  of  the  steep,  the  great  abbey 
church  a  complicated  mass  of  flying  buttresses  and 
retaining  walls,  of  Norman  arches  and  Gothic 
finials  brooding  upon  the  summit  and  "flinging 
its  passion"  against  the  gold-blue  of  the  sky;  while 
at  its  feet  the  wet  sands  turn  to  rose.  Everywhere 
there  is  silence,  a  breathless  waiting  for  the  sea. 
Then  of  a  sudden  one  catches  the  first  murmured 
ripple  of  the  incoming  tide,  and  on  the  horizon 
there  appears  a  thin  white  line  of  foam.  The 
murmuring  voice  of  the  sea  grows  more  insistent, 
reminiscent  of  Debussy's  sea  music  in  "Pelleas 
and  Melisande,"  swelling  and  swelling  in  its  on- 
rush across  the  seven  miles  of  roseate-hued  sands 
until  the  floodtide  has  once  more  returned  to  its 
wooing  of  the  sacred  mount.  Slowly  there  comes 
the  long  northern  twilight,  violet  coloured,  grad- 
ually deepening  into  night  until  the  sky  becomes  a 
galaxy  of  stars;  and  everywhere  there  is  silence 
save  for  the  cheep  of  a  bat,  the  faint  sighing  of 
the  wind  among  the  trees  in  the  tiny  wood  that 
grips  the  precipitous  side  of  the  rock,  and  the  in- 
sistent music  of  the  sea.  Thus  is  the  warrior- 
spirit  of  Mont-Saint-Michel  blended  with  that 
of  the  dreamer,  the  Mont  suggestive  in  its  dream- 


Exterior  Town  Gate 
Mont  Saint-Michel 


53 


54    THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

like  quality  of  Milton's  "great  vision  of  the 
guarded  mount." 

One  enters  the  town  by  the  old  water  gate,  a 
little  town  of  a  few  clambering  houses  and  one 
street  that  winds  its  tortuous  way  past  the  tiny 
parish  church  and  the  house  where  dwelt  the 
gentle  Lady  Tiphaine,  wife  of  the  rough  though 
splendid  Bertrand  du  Guesclin,  to  the  foot  of  the 
steps  that  lead  upward  to  the  entrance  gates  of 
the  abbey,  the  entrance  being  reached  also  from 
the  ramparts.  These  grim  gates  of  the  donjon, 
La  Chatelet,  are  flanked  with  towers,  the  donjon's 
grizzled  battlements  flinging  defiance  as  it  frowns 
down  upon  an  ever-enveloping  sea. 

Having  passed  through  the  donjon  gates  and 
the  Salles  des  Gardes,  one  follows  a  pilgrims' 
way, — the  abbot's  stairs  and  the  Grand  Degre, — 
that  leads  upward  to  the  abbey  church,  the  shrine 
that  is  the  very  heart  of  this  sacred  Mont.  The 
church  was  begun  in  1020  by  Abbot  Hildebert, 
a  work  in  which  he  was  encouraged  and  materi- 
ally assisted  by  the  Norman  Duke,  Richard  II., 
grandfather  of  the  "Conqueror."  The  Normans 
were  builders,  and  in  their  work  one  finds  not 
only  daring  and  energy  and  warlike  character- 
istics, but  thoroughness;  and  in  the  splendid 
eleventh  century  crypt  of  the  Gros  Piliers  there 


The  Abbey 
Mont  S£in1-MJchel 


55 


56     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

is  found  the  same  perfection  of  workmanship,  the 
same  attention  to  detail  that  is  seen  in  the  work 
of  the  great  arches  of  the  nave.  Four  of  these 
arches  are  still  standing,  proof  truly  of  the  solid- 
ity of  the  Norman  work.  With  characterisic  dar- 
ing, this  Norman  abbot  set  his  church  upon  the 
apex  of  the  rock,  building  out  retaining  walls  and 
buttresses  to  distribute  the  weight.  A  successor 
of  the  abbot's,  Robert  de  Torigny,  in  1170  re- 
constructed the  west  front  and  added  two  tow- 
ers; but  these  fell  in  1300,  as  did  the  choir  in 
1421.  Thus  this  choir  in  its  rebuilding,  flowered 
into  Gothic,  the  apsidal  east  end  with  its  mass  of 
flying  buttresses  giving  the  exalted  winged  vic- 
tory effect  to  the  great  church  built  upon  its  rocky 
eminence.  That  which  the  "Romanesque  could 
not  express,  flowered  into  the  Gothic."  Some 
one  has  said  that  "what  the  masculine  mind  could 
not  idealise  in  the  warrior,  it  idealised  in  the 
woman";  so  at  Mont-Saint-Michel  we  see  again 
its  keynote  in  the  harmonious  blending  of  early 
Norman  and  late  Gothic,  the  seriousness,  re- 
straint and  reposeful  energy  of  the  Norman  and 
the  passionate  joy,  aspiration  and  abandon  of  the 
Gothic,  each  with  its  special  message,  each  im- 
parting of  its  strength  and  of  its  beauty  to  the 
other  without  discord.  Yet  for  all  its  loveliness 


MONT-SAINT-MICHEL 


57 


there  is  a  sense  of  disappointment  when  one  steps 
into  this  beautiful  but  empty  church  that  is  now 
undergoing  a  thorough  restoration  after  its  long 
use  as  a  prison  since  the  Revolution,  when  the 
monks  of  Saint  Maur,  who  succeeded  the  earlier 
Order  of  the  Benedictines  in  1615,  were  expelled. 


Cloisters 

Mont- Saint- Michel 

With  their  going  the  monastic  atmosphere  has 
vanished,  and  with  it  that  sense  of  worship,  that 
incense-cloud  of  prayer  when  the  church,  as  at 
Le  Puy,  was  always  "watching  to  God."  So 
too  in  the  exquisite  granite  thirteenth  century 
cloisters,  Italian  in  their  delicacy,  and  unequalled 
in  France  save  at  Saint  Wandrille  and  Le  Puy, 
one  is  haunted  by  their  tomblike  silence.  In 


58     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

these  beautiful  old  cloisters  one  feels  deeply, 
however,  the  refining  power  of  beauty,  these  clois- 
ters being  truly  "a  reassertion  of  the  mastery  of 
love,  of  thought  and  of  poetry  in  religion,  over 
the  masculine,  military  energy"  of  the  great  Hall 
of  the  Chevaliers  below.  The  columns,  which 
form  a  double  arcade,  are  richly  carved.  The 
beautiful  frieze  is  like  finely-wrought  lacework, 
and  is  in  perfect  preservation. 

In  1203  Philip  Augustus  wrested  Normandy 
from  the  English,  and  in  celebration  of  the  event, 
the  Duke  of  Brittany  burned  the  town,  damaging 
the  abbey.  To  atone  for  this  vandalism  the  king 
gave  a  large  sum  for  its  restoration  which  was  car- 
ried out  by  Abbot  Jordan  who  planned  the  huge 
pile  covering  the  northern  side  of  the  Mount, — 
Le  Merveille, — a  marvellous  piece  of  construc- 
tion and  may  well  be  compared  with  Amboise.  Le 
Merveille  consists  of  three  stories.  The  top  floor 
is  on  a  level  with  the  cloisters;  the  second,  con- 
tains the  Salle  des  Chevaliers  of  the  Order  of 
Saint  Michel,  an  order  founded  here  by  Louis 
XI.  in  1469,  and  the  refectory,  one  of  the  finest 
Gothic  halls  in  France;  on  the  lowest  floor  the 
almonry  is  the  chief  point  of  interest.  The  great 
thirteenth  century  hall  of  the  Chevaliers  and  the 
refectory,  also  of  that  same  period,  are  halls  such 


MONT-SAINT-MICHEL  59 

as  were  found  in  every  chateau,  and  are  almost 
the  only  monuments  of  secular  architecture  of  the 
perfect  period  of  Gothic  art  extant.  They  may 
well  be  called  the  "antechambers  to  the  nave  of 
Chartres."  The  Romanesque  capitals  are  richly 
carved;  the  early  Gothic  vaulting  is  perfectly  pro- 


Mont- Saint -Michel. 

La  Salle  cJes  Chevaliers. 

portioned :  and  in  every  stone  there  lives  still  the 
"warlike  energy"  of  Saint  Michel.  The  lighting 
of  the  refectory  is  superb,  and  is,  as  some  one  has 
aptly  phrased  it,  "a  simple  preamble  to  the  ro- 
mance of  the  Chartres  windows." 

The  Promenoir  is  a  twelfth  century  transitional 
work,  and  belongs  to  the  earlier  days  of  the  ab- 


60    THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

bey's  history  when  it  still  gave  its  allegiance  to  the 
Norman  dukes.  Here  the  Dukes  of  Normandy 
were  entertained  in  great  splendour,  notable 
among  them,  Henry  II.,  of  England,  and  his  queen 
Eleanor  of  Guienne.  After  the  driving  out  of 
the  English  in  1203  Mont-Saint-Michel  remained 
in  the  hands  of  the  French,  and  was  the  only  fort- 
ress in  Normandy  that  successfully  withstood  the 
armies  of  Henry  V.  In  this  portion  of  the  abbey 
are  the  dungeon  of  Cardinal  La  Balue,  who  after- 
wards exchanged  this  prison  for  that  of  Loches, 
the  Crypte  de  1'Aquilon,  and  a  crypt  used  by  the 
monks  as  a  cemetery. 

In  these  abbatial  buildings  the  keynote  of  Saint 
Michel  is  again  struck.  The  secular  and  the  ec- 
clesiastical jostle  each  other  without  discord;  the 
jongleur  and  the  pilgrim  meet  and  together  wend 
their  way  upward  to  the  shrine  upon  the  sum- 
mit. At  these  great  feasts  the  jongleur,  Blondel 
perchance,  sang  his  songs,  and  the  young  monk, 
William  de  Saint-Pair  recited  for  the  ducal  com- 
pany his  "Chanson  de  Roland."  Just  above  the 
level  of  the  great  hall  is  the  chapter  house,  a  mas- 
terpiece of  the  mason's  chisel,  an  ideal  spot  for 
study  where  doubtless  many  a  "Roman"  was  writ- 
ten, and  where  the  old  monks  probably  illumined 
many  of  the  missals  and  manuscripts  for  which 


MONT-SAINT-MICHEL  61 

this  abbey  was  justly  famous.  Feasting  they 
knew  full  well,  these  warrior  monks;  but  the  in- 
tellectual feasts  in  the  old  chapter  house  out- 
numbered those  of  the  great  hall ;  for  in  the  days 
of  Middle  Age,  Mont-Saint-Michel  earned  the 
name  of  the  "City  of  Books."  A  few  steps 
brought  the  monks  from  the  chapter  house  to  the 
cloisters  for  meditation;  a  few  more  led  them  to 
the  church  for  prayer. 

Standing  upon  the  great  platform  of  the  Saut 
Gaultier,  overlooking  the  jumble  of  houses  in  the 
little  town,  the  church  close  by  rising  exultant 
into  a  cloudless  sky,  the  rock  bathed  in  the  gold 
glow  of  sunset,  the  past  sweeps  in  with  the  on- 
rush of  the  swift-coming  tide,  a  grim  warlike 
past  living  still  in  every  stone,  yet  mellowed  by 
the  centuries,  refined  by  the  exquisite  beauty  of 
the  Gothic.  In  imagination  one  can  see  pilgrim 
and  jongleur,  monk  and  armoured  knight  crowd- 
ing up  the  steep  pilgrims'  way  to  the  heights 
crowned  with  the  abbey  church,  heart  of  sea- 
bound  Mont-Saint-Michel,  which  for  some  twelve 
hundred  years  was  always  "watching  to  God." 
Though  the  rude  energy  of  the  Norman  has  been 
refined  and  lifted  up  by  the  spiritual  exaltation 
of  the  Gothic,  yet  the  virility  is  undiminished. 
The  militant  spirit  symbolised  by  the  mail-clad 


62     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

figure  of  Saint  Michel  is  the  dominant  note,  the 
kingdom  of  God  dwelling  within  the  heart  of 
this  tiny  tide-beset  hill-town,  Saint  Michel,  the 
warrior  and  the  dreamer  listening  to  the  eternal 
calling  of  the  sea. 


Ill 

FOUR  HILL-TOWNS  OF  BRITTANY 

I.    SAINT-JEAN-DU-DOIGT 

f 

THE  conflict  of  all  alien  forces  tends  to  the 
making  of  nations,  as  it  tends  also  to  the 
making  of  the  individual  character.  We  see  the 
primitive  Breton  peasant  standing  shyly  on  the 
broader  threshold  of  modernity  that  offers  ever 
widening  possibilities  for  the  future,  as  the  forces 
of  the  present,  ranging  themselves  against  the 
great  wall  of  the  past,  buttressed  with  tradition, 
pierce  it  despite  its  thickness.  By  dwelling  mostly 
upon  their  primitive  side,  we  may,  perhaps,  see  the 
trend  of  this  future  that  is  dawning  for  them. 

The  Celt  has  always  stood  aloof,  proud,  re- 
served, distinct  in  race,  in  feeling,  in  language, 
in  tradition;  above  all,  tenaciously  loyal  to  all 
that  he  holds  sacred.  Brittany,  from  the  natural 
isolation  of  her  position,  has  fostered  all  these 
characteristics,  and  to  cross  the  border  line  sep- 
arating Normandy  from  Brittany  is  to  step  into 
63 


64     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

another  world,  a  world  of  rugged  scrub  growth; 
of  craggy  rocks  that  peep  from  beneath  the  gold 
of  gorse  and  broom,  and  the  deep  purple  of  the 
bell  heather;  of  sharp,  barren  hills  where  one  gets 
glimpses  of  the  wild,  northern  sea;  of  deep,  soft 
green  valleys  where  the  cuckoo  hides,  and  an  un- 
dercurrent of  joyous  forest  life  throbs  busily.  The 
Argoat,  that  green  forest  land,  folds  within  its 
hills  the  runic  murmur  of  romance,  a  romance  of 
pastoral  simplicity;  but  it  is  the  Armor,  that  coast 
of  Brittany  with  its  naked,  storm-carved  cliffs, 
that  brings  us  face  to  face  with  the  stern  realities 
of  the  Breton  life. 

It  was  midsummer's  eve,  yet  the  freshness  of 
April  was  in  the  air,  and  the  uncertainty  of  April 
weather  lurked  in  the  heavy  clouds  as  they  swept 
slowly  across  the  June  sky.  Down  in  the  valley 
that  enfolds  the  quaint  town  of  Morlaix,  the 
clouds  burst  into  momentary  fits  of  passion;  but 
drenched  streets  and  dripping  house  roofs  could 
not  dampen  the  ardour  or  stay  the  steps  of  the  pil- 
grim peasants  who,  in  gala  attire,  crowded  dili- 
gence^ char-a-bancs,  and  high  two-wheeled  carts, 
and  rumbled  off  along  the  pilgrims'  way  to  Saint- 
Jean-du-Doigt. 

As  the  road  bent  upward  and  away  from  the 
river,  the  shower  was  left  behind,  and  the  grey- 


SAINT-JEAN-DU-DOIGT  65 

massed  clouds  revealed  the  blue  that  edged  their 
silver  lining.  The  road  led  northward  across  the 
hills,  sometimes  between  long  avenues  of  beeches 
through  which  the  sun  filtered  its  dull  yellow 
gold ;  again  winding  down  across  the  gorge  of  the 
Dourdu,  where,  amid  its  silent,  savage  grandeur, 
one  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  sea.  In  the  hawthorn, 
birds  sang;  in  the  fields  and  along  the  road  flow- 
ers bloomed;  and  the  hearts  of  the  passers-by 
echoed  the  song  and  gathered  the  flowers. 

Peasants  from  many  parishes  trudged  along 
that  road,  wending  their  way  toward  Saint-Jean 
to  participate  in  this  fete  of  the  solstice, — this 
Feast  of  Light  that  links  back  to  old  Celtic  days 
and  even  to  the  fire  worshippers  of  the  East.  Oc- 
casionally one  passed  a  cowherd  clad  in  goatskin, 
a  touch  as  primitive  as  if  a  satyr  peered  from  be- 
hind an  oak.  The  road  led  truly  into  a  little 
world  apart,  a  world  of  which  simplicity  was  the 
keynote,  the  simplicity  of  those  who  live  close 
to  Nature,  who  know  her  moods,  who  love  yet 
fear  her,  and  who  yield  themselves  to  her  guid- 
ance. 

The  way  went  with  sudden  swiftness  to  the 
valley  where  Saint-Jean,  though  part  of  it  skirts 
the  hill-crest,  lay  hidden  in  an  amphitheatre  of 
exquisite  green.  A  half-mile  distant  shimmered 


66     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

the  sea,  shot  in  mystic  green  and  purple  hues, 
touched  here  and  there  with  gold  as  the  sun  broke 
through  the  huddling  masses  of  flying  clouds  still 
glowering  in  the  sky.  The  little  valley  lies  within 
a  horseshoe  circle  of  high  hills  that  pause  abruptly, 
jagged  and  torn  by  the  rude  play  of  the  sea  above 
which  they  brood  so  dreamily.  The  green  of  its 
fields  is  set  about  with  the  royal  purple  of  the 
heather;  its  solitude  echoes  the  silvery  laughter 
of  hidden  water  brooks,  the  merry  gurgle  of  many 
fountains  and  the  far-off  croon  of  ceaseless  tides. 
This  open  temple  is  dedicated  to  the  "King  of 
Stars,"  as  the  Bretons  call  the  sun,  and  the  Bret- 
ons have  hallowed  it  by  long  centuries  of  wor- 
ship, the  worship  of  Heol,  the  God  of  Light, — a 
worship  that  has  changed  its  form,  perhaps,  yet 
harks  back  unmistakably  to  the  ancient  Celtic 
Nature  worship  of  old  Druid  days. 

The  tiny,  freshly  whitewashed  houses  that 
straggle  down  the  hillside  into  the  valley  were 
half-hidden  by  the  booths  and  caravans  of  the 
gipsies,  who  were  there  in  plenty,  displaying 
their  cheap,  tawdry  wares, — coloured  beads,  col- 
oured streamers,  candy  and  gaudy  calicoes;  others 
were  making  pancakes  or  offering  to  tell  your  for- 
tune for  a  sou.  The  wheezing  monotony  of  a 
carousel  rose  above  the  hum  of  the  crowd,  ming- 


SAINT-JEAN-DU-DOIGT  67 

ling  discordantly  with  their  gay  laughter.  Many 
of  the  crowd  lingered  about  the  booths,  yet  some 
pushed  their  way  eagerly  toward  the  old  fountain 
that  stands  just  within  the  crumbling  gateway 
of  the  tumble-down  churchyard.  The  fountain  is 
a  beautiful  piece  of  Renaissance  work,  probably 
of  some  forgotten  artist,  and  about  it  the  peasants 
gather  to  bathe  their  eyes  in  its  sacred  waters  that 
have  been  blessed  by  the  holy  finger  of  Saint  Jean, 
the  holy  relic  that  found  its  way  to  Saint-Jean  in 
miraculous  fashion  during  the  fifteenth  century, 
supplanting  the  devotion  hitherto  given  to  Saint 
Meriedek,  the  early  Cornish  saint  for  whom  the 
village  was  originally  named, — Traoum-Merie- 
dek. 

It  was  interesting  to  stand  in  the  old  gateway 
and  watch  the  crowd  sway  restlessly  to  and  fro, 
as  the  peasants  surged  up  and  down  the  tiny  street, 
loitered  by  the  gateway,  or  pressed  on  to  pray  in 
the  grey  moss-grown  church,  half-ruinous  with  the 
years,  its  beauty  all  but  despoiled  by  too  rude 
handling,  save  for  a  broken  bit  of  an  exterior  tri- 
forium  and  the  slender,  graceful  Gothic  tower 
that  points  upward  into  the  calm  blue  of  the  sky. 
All  types  were  there, — those  of  fair  hair  and  mys- 
tic blue  of  eye;  those  dark  of  hue,  with  eyes  re- 
flectant  of  the  wood-brook's  golden  brown;  those 


The  Church  Gateway, 

St.  lean-du-Dojg't 


68 


The  Procession,  St.  Jean-du-Doigt 


SAINT-JEAN-DU-DOIGT  69 

of  the  blue-black  hair,  whose  eyes  gather  within 
their  depths  the  dream-fugues  of  the  sea.  The 
weathering  of  the  sea  and  the  struggle  for  exist- 
ence have  left  their  mark  upon  those  stern,  square- 
cut  faces,  faces  softened  by  the  fund  of  humour 
lurking  about  the  corners  of  their  mouths  and 
lighting  their  eyes  with  sudden  fire. 

Suddenly  the  bells  rang  out  in  silvery  music. 
The  carousel  ceased  its  monotonous  wheezing,  and 
a  hush  fell  upon  the  crowded  street.  Some  priests, 
preceded  by  the  Swiss,  a  crucifer  and  attendant 
acolytes,  came  out  of  the  church,  crossed  the 
churchyard,  and  went  down  the  street  to  meet  the 
procession  from  Plougasnou,  the  only  parish  that 
still  joins  its  banners  with  Saint- Jean  in  this 
yearly  festival.  In  the  old  days,  processions  from 
many  parishes  came  from  across  the  hills  and  by 
boat.  Now  they  celebrate  their  own  festivals  or 
come  merely  as  spectators. 

Vespers  in  the  church  over,  the  procession  re- 
formed. From  the  top  of  the  hill  where  the 
three  ways  meet,  and  where  from  pagan  times  the 
Tantad  has  been  burned,  one  could  see  the  pro- 
cession coming,  winding  in  and  out  among  the 
deep-set  lanes,  the  peasants  chanting  as  they  came. 
On  they  marched,  the  great  banners  waving  in 
the  breeze,  until  they  reached  the  top  of  the  hill 


70     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

where  the  huge  stack  of  gorse,  crowned  with  a 
cross  of  roses,  stood  ready  for  the  fiery  dragon 
that  would  soon  be  winging  its  way  down  the  rope 
that  stretched  from  the  church  tower  to  the  stack. 
First  came  the  crucifer  and  acolytes,  followed  by 
the  big  banners  and  the  little  girls  from  Plougas- 
nou,  dressed  in  white  dresses,  shawls  and  lace  caps, 
four  of  whom  carried  a  canopy  of  blue  over  a 
statue  of  the  Blessed  Virgin.  Then  came  the 
Saint-Jean  banners,  girls  in  white,  little  children 
carrying  little  white  banners  edged  with  different 
coloured  streamers.  Next  the  priests  came,  robed 
in  gorgeous  yellow  vestments  and  bearing  the  sa- 
cred relics.  Behind  them  walked  the  boy  Saint 
Jean,  clad  in  a  lamb's-wool  jacket,  a  wreath  of 
white  flowers  resting  on  his  fair  curls.  In  front 
of  the  boy  walked  a  lamb,  a  red  cord  attached  to 
his  horns.  The  ends  of  the  cord  were  held  by  two 
peasants  who  walked  on  either  side  of  the  little 
Saint  Jean. 

The  singing  ceased  as  the  procession  gathered 
about  the  Tantad,  and  a  wave  of  silence  swept 
the  multitude  hovering  all  about.  Far  off  lay  the 
sea,  wind-tossed,  colour-flecked,  soundless.  The 
voice  of  the  wind  alone  was  heard  as  it  came 
chanting  its  pagan  chant  to  heroic  measure, — the 
echo,  perchance,  of  the  druid  worshippers  of  long 


SAINT- JEAN-DU-DOIGT  7 1 

ago.  Intensity  marked  each  face  in  that  huddled 
crowd.  A  rocket  shot  straight  and  high  toward 
the  dark  mass  of  clouds,  and  a  shout  followed  its 
flight;  the  beginning  of  the  end  was  at  hand. 
One  girl  stood  shyly  beside  her  sweetheart,  a 
bunch  of  "fire  flowers"  in  her  hand,  ready  to  cast 
them  into  the  flames.  It  was  midsummer's  eve, 
and  she  had  made  a  wish  that  was  near  to  her 
heart.  The  wishes  of  a  year  hung  in  the  balance 
as  the  peasants  waited  for  the  flight  of  the  fire- 
dragon.  The  signal  was  given  at  last  as  the  great 
banner  of  Saint-Jean  was  raised  and  inclined 
three  times,  and  all  eyes  turned  toward  the  church 
tower,  where  the  bells  had  begun  to  ring  again. 
Down  the  rope  the  fiery  little  dragon  flew,  hurl- 
ing itself  with  incredible  swiftness  into  the  stack. 
A  curl  of  smoke,  a  crackling  sound,  a  flame  all 
copper-hued  shot  up  against  the  grey-blue  sky, 
spreading  swiftly,  and, — the  wishes  for  that  year 
were  safe,  their  fulfilment  assured. 

"An  Tan  I  An  Tan  I"  the  Gaelic  cry  for  fire 
rang  out  finding  echo  in  the  hills. 

"An  Tan.'  An  Tan!"  the  church  bells  pealed, 
deep  down  in  the  valley. 

" :An  Tan!  An  Tan!"  the  wind  sang  as  it  .sped 
up  the  valley  and  across  the  vast,  unknown  spaces 
of  the  sky. 


72     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

The  procession  had  reformed,  and  the  joyous, 
laughing,  happy  voices  of  the  peasants  trooping 
down  the  hillside  floated  upward  to  the  holy 
ground,  the  pagan  Trivia,  where  three  roads  meet. 
Away  to  the  west,  Heol,  the  Sun  God  trailed  his 
robes  of  purple-gold  across  the  barren  hills.  In 
that  gold  glow  of  sunset  I  saw  reflected  the  bar- 
baric splendour  of  old  Druid  worship,  of  the 
East.  In  the  flare  of  the  Tantad  I  saw  it  softened 
and  transformed,  yet  these  people  glorifying  still 
the  great  spirit  of  Life  and  Light.  I  realised  also 
that  the  primitiveness  of  these  people  was  pass- 
ing, as  was  their  clinging  to  these  simple,  primi- 
tive beliefs.  The  great  world  outside  has  touched 
them  and  has  left  them  a  trifle  self-conscious,  a 
trifle  less  credulous  of  superstitious  sayings, 
though  their  faith  is  still  unbroken,  undisturbed. 
The  day  of  the  Pardon  is  undoubtedly  num- 
bered; its  need  is  outgrown.  The  majority 
of  the  people  stand  on  the  edge  of  the  crowd, 
spectators  rather  than  participants.  Nature  wor- 
shippers they  are  still.  Yet  a  future  with  broader, 
richer  possibilities  is  opening  for  them, — a  road 
that  is  leading  them  out  from  the  Trivia  with  the 
glow  of  the  Tantad  still  shining  in  their  eyes. 


II.    LA  FAOUET 

Argoat,  Armor — close  sheltering  crests  of  pine 
And  vales  of  ancient  silence  walled  by  these. 
MRS.  OWENS. 

HEDGED  in  by  the  "ancient  silence"  of  the 
Black  Hills,  the  little  town  of  La  Faouet 
listens  dreamily  to  the  sylvan  laughter  of  a  water 
brook  as  it  winds  down  the  soft,  green  valley  of 
the  Elle — that  same  silvery  laughter  that  at  Saint- 
Jean  was  mingled  with  the  ruder  laughter  of  the 
sea.  And  therein  lies  the  difference  between  the 
Argoat  and  the  Armor  of  Brittany.  The  Armor 
is  rugged  and  barren;  its  hills  and  jagged  cliffs 
flash  the  rough  sparkling  beauty  of  an  uncut  gem. 
The  Argoat  is  set  in  mystic  beauty — beech  forests 
and  fields  of  rustling  grain;  its  steep  hills  and 
deep,  winding  valleys  echo  the  runic  murmur  of 
romance.  The  busy,  joyous  hum  of  forest  life  sur- 
rounds one ;  the  swish  of  a  flail,  the  minor  melody 
of  a  quaint  Breton  chanson  floating  across  the 
fields  of  mellowing  grain,  or  the  far-away  sound 
of  a  shepherd's  pipe  interpret  the  simple,  pastoral 

73 


74     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

life  of  these  people,  in  whose  present  still  lingers 
fifteenth-century  remoteness.  Yet  even  here, 
amidst  a  seemingly  untouched  primitiveness  of 
life  and  living,  modernity  has  at  least  to  some  ex- 
tent broken  through  the  "walled  silence"  of  their 
reserve.  Unconsciously  they  are  looking  beyond 


Road  leading  Info  La  Faoue! 

the  line  of  their  beech-crested  hills,  beyond  the 
verge  of  the  forest  of  Broceliande  into  a  modern 
world. 

There  is  but  one  road  leading  into  this  un- 
touched Breton  town  of  La  Faouet — the  road  to 
yesterday — a  wild,  rambling  road  that  winds 
across  the  hills  and  through  lovely,  verdant  val- 
leys where  tumultuous  little  streams  laugh  mer- 


LA  FAOUET 


75 


rily — the  sylvan*  elfish  laughter  of  Broceliande. 
The  July  air  was  keen,  the  atmosphere  clear-cut 
like  September,  the  clouds  making  shadow-pic- 
tures across  the  gorse  and  heather-decked  hills. 
The  same  wonderful 
buoyancy,  the  pent-up 
vigour  that  is  felt  en 
route  to  Saint- Jean 
was  in  the  air,  and 
along  the  white  road 
picturesque  peasants 
in  Sunday  attire 
trooped  gaily  home- 
ward, singing,  laugh- 
ing, merry.  It  was  the 
fete  of  Sainte  Barbe, 
the  great  festa  day  of 
the  year  at  La  Faouet. 
Summoned  by  the 
tolling  of  the  great 
bell,  the  peasants  had 
gathered  on  the  pine-clad  hill  beside  the  curious 
square  bell-tower,  there  to  worship  in  the  old, 
moss-grown  chapel  of  Sainte  Barbe,  that  is  set  in 
the  cliff  some  three  hundred  feet  above  the  rush- 
ing, tumbling  Elle.  The  chapel  is  the  votive  of- 
fering of  one  Jean  de  Toulbodou  to  Sainte  Barbe, 


76     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

who  miraculously  preserved  him  from  harm  dur- 
ing a  terrific  thunderstorm  which  overtook  the 
knight  while  hunting  in  the  valley  in  1849.  Beau- 
tifully balustraded  steps,  hollowed  by  centuries 
of  pilgrim  feet,  lead  down  from  the  belfry  to  the 
chapel,  where  an  old  Breton  with  long,  grey  hair 
and  clad  in  a  homespun  linen  suit,  unlocked  the 
door  to  the  past — a  past  that  not  only  was  but  is. 
Here  the  "ancient  silence"  knows  no  penetration. 
About  the  age-worn  chapel  lies  the  forest,  shim- 
mering in  the  July  sunshine,  quivering  with  its 
invisible  forest  life;  echoing  the  song  of  birds, 
exuding  the  pungent  fragrance  of  deep  woods. 
At  the  top  of  the  balustraded  steps,  across  a  minia- 
ture bridge,  the  wee  chapel  of  Saint  David  is 
perched  upon  a  jut  of  rock.  Within,  the  old  man 
pointed  to  a  statue  of  Saint  Guenole,  the  patron 
saint  of  cattle.  Votive  offerings  of  cows'  tails 
were  heaped  beneath  the  statue  of  the  saint,  of- 
fered, the  guardian  explained,  through  the  aid  of 
the  bright-eyed  Marianne,  who  acted  as  interpre- 
ter, in  order  "that  the  cows  might  become  gentle 
cows  with  good  dispositions."  The  simple  faith 
of  the  old  man  and  the  little  girl  was  very  realis- 
tic, very  touching.  The  two  were  one  in  their 
faith.  But  the  old  man,  slow  of  thought,  slower 


LA  FAOUET  77 

of  speech,  was  lost  forever  behind  that  "ancient 
silence." 

The  holy  well  of  Sainte  Barbe,  with  its  moss- 
dimmed  bas-relief  of  the  good  saint,  lies  in  a 
green  meadow  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff  to  which 
the  chapel  clings.  It  dates  back  to  the 
founding  of  the  chapel  and  on  the  fete  day 
the  girls  gather  there  to  find  an  answer  to  that 
all-important  question — "Will  they  marry  within 
the  year?"  At  the  bottom  of  the  stone  basin  is  a 
hole  about  the  size  of  a  fifty-cent  piece,  and  on 
the  dropping  of  a  pin  through  this  aperture  hang 
their  fondest  hopes.  It  was  the  nature  worship 
of  Saint-Jean  transferred  from  the  fire  to  the 
water.  And  the  cry  I  had  heard  at  Saint-Jean 
echoed  in  my  mind :  "You  have  been  to  the  Fire. 
Come  to  the  Water  also!" 

As  at  Saint-Jean,  life  among  these  people 
seemed  simple  enough  to  present  no  problems. 
Yet  as  I  sat  there  by  the  old  fountain  with  Mari- 
anne listening  to  her  prattle,  I  realised  that  even 
in  fifteenth-century  La  Faouet,  the  problem  of 
transition  was  upon  them.  It  was  a  sensitive  little 
face  that  looked  up  into  mine,  a  child's  face  made 
serious  by  care.  Fair  hair  peeped  shyly  from  be- 
neath the  pretty  lace  cap,  and  the  wonderful  blue 
eyes,  penetrative  yet  melting  into  dreams,  gave 


78     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

promise  of  the  spirit  that  would  some  day  pierce 
the  "ancient  silence."  She  told  me  that  she  had 
one  sister  and  three  brothers,  and  that  through 
the  cure  she  had  procured  a  position  for  the  oldest 
brother  as  kitchen-boy  on  a  P.  &  O.  boat.  Then 
she  added  quite  simply  that  in  order  to  place  him 
under  the  protection  of  Sainte  Barbe,  who  pro- 
tects against  accident,  she  had  saved  up  four 
francs  to  have  a  mass  said  especially  for  him — "et 
maintenant  il  avait  chance."  Again  in  speaking 
of  some  one  who  was  an  orphan  she  said :  "He  is 
indeed  poor,  he  has  no  father  nor  mother."  Then 
she  spoke  of  how  the  government  had  forced  them 
to  speak  French  in  the  schools,  and  of  how  they 
had  closed  the  nunnery  across  the  Place — and  her 
face  grew  like  flint.  Loyalty,  the  old  feudal  loy- 
alty instinctive  with  these  people,  rose  up  in  de- 
fence of  past  traditions  and  that  for  centuries 
has  been  held  sacred  and  inviolate.  Yet  these 
children  were  speaking  French — there  had  been 
no  uprising  as  in  the  days  of  the  Chouans.  A 
fatalism  founded  on  infinite  hope  characterises 
their  attitude,  a  resignation  that  accepts  present 
conditions  in  the  hope  that  things  will  return  to 
what  they  have  been.  But  the  march  of  a  race 
is  onward,  and  so  by  devious  ways  the  Bretons 
are  reaching  out  towards  modernity. 


LA  FAOUET  79 

Like  all  Breton  towns,  La  Faouet  straggles 
about  the  market  place,  which  is  the  centre  of  its 
life — its  everyday  life  as  well  as  the  secular  part 
of  its  fete  days.  Here  the  weekly  market  takes 
place;  here  the  gossips  of  the  town  gather;  here 
does  the  carousel  drone,  and  the  circus  hold  sway; 
here  do  the  pipers  sit  on  the  edge  of  the  low 


wall  that  encloses  the  arched  avenue  of  trees,  the 
pink  streamers  on  their  hats  waving  gaily  in  the 
wind,  and  pipe  quaint  scraps  of  tunes  while  the 
peasants  dance.  With  flagolet  and  bagpipe  the 
pipers  pipe  vigorously  as  the  couples  gather  under 
the  trees,  merry  in  their  holiday.  The  step  was 
something  like  a  mazurka,  and  in  form  something 
like  a  gavotte — a  running  dance  with  four  peas- 
ants in  a  set.  It  was  quaint,  primitive  indeed, 


80     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

and  done  with  the  same  unconsciousness  that  is 
characteristic  of  all  they  do:  it  was  the  child  at 
play.  Between  the  dances  the  couples  walked 
around  the  Place  arm  in  arm — and  thus  is  their 
simple  wooing  accomplished. 

Then  there  were  races,  two  peasants  of  La 
Faouet  upholding  the  honour  of  the  town  against 
a  swaggering  "beau  gas"  from  some  neighbouring 
village.  While  they  were  preparing  to  start,  the 
challenger,  with  a  brave  show  of  superiority,  dis- 
mounted, tossed  the  bridle-rein  to  a  man  nearby, 
and  followed  by  his  admirers  entered  the  inn. 
The  clink  of  glasses  told  of  healths  being  drunk 
to  this  country  hero.  The  Faouet  men,  mean- 
while, waited,  surrounded  by  a  loyal,  eager  group 
who  were  not  niggardly  in  giving  advice  and  in 
bidding  them  be  on  the  lookout  for  tricks.  At  last 
the  "beau  gas"  swaggered  out,  and  in  a  moment 
the  three  were  off  down  the  road,  soon  disappear- 
ing over  the  crest  of  a  low  hill.  Ten  minutes  of 
breathless  suspense,  then  the  clatter  of  hoofs,  and 
the  riders  straggled  in,  the  "beau  gas"  leading 
amidst  a  mingling  of  shouts  and  groans  as  the 
townspeople  saw  their  champions  defeated. 

The  sun  was  "raining  gold"  through  the  thick 
vault  of  trees  of  a  deep,  green  lane  that  wound 
down  the  hill  and  along  the  valley  of  the  Elle 


*     I 


St.  Fiacre,  La  Faouet. 


81 


82     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

toward  Saint  Fiacre,  one  of  those  old,  old  chapels 
whose  history  lies  buried  among  its  crumbling 
walls.  A  magic  stillness  hung  about  the  place, 
the  magic  of  Viviane's  forest  that  breathes  of  her 
eternal  freshness  and  beauty.  The  bell-tower  is 
unique,  one  thickness  of  the  stone  rising  up  as  a 


Rood  Screen, 

SI  Fiacre. 

continuation  of  the  west  front  wall,  the  bells 
hanging  between  its  pinnacles — an  Eastern  touch 
that  would  suggest  the  wind-bells  of  an  Indian 
temple.  Despite  its  ruinous  condition,  the  chapel 
is  still  beautiful,  enshrining  within  its  heart  a 
superb  fifteenth-century  carved  wood  rood.  In 
style  it  is  flamboyant,  lavishly  set  with  figures, 
mostly  relating  to  the  history  of  Saint  Fiacre. 


LA  FAOUfiT  83 

Doubtless  this  rood,  so  uncharacteristic  of 
French  churches,  harks  back  to  English  influence 
due  to  English  occupation  during  the  Hundred 
Years'  War. 

Near  the  chapel  is  a  farmhouse,  and  there  we 
lingered  chatting  with  the  peasants  and  watching 
them  prepare  a  stone  oven  for  a  neighbourhood's 
baking — some  fifteen  enormous  loaves  in  all — 
which  were  marked  with  a  horseshoe,  a  cross  or 
a  trefoil  for  good  luck.  The  older  women  wore 
black  velvet  tub  hats,  with  shoulder  capes  at- 
tached, not  unlike  those  worn  by  the  Welsh 
women.  On  the  way  back,  we  passed  an  old 
woman  tending  her  cow  and  spinning  with  a 
spindle.  She  stood  working  busily,  the  sunset 
glow  brightening  her  strong,  weather-beaten  face, 
a  quiet  dignity  gracing  her  worn  clothes  and  be- 
tokening an  innate  fineness,  revealing  the  fine  tem- 
pering of  her  Breton  spirit — a  noble  simplicity 
of  soul.  Well  could  I  imagine  her  following  the 
old  Breton  custom  of  "telling  her  beads  by  the 
stars,"  as  she  wandered  homeward  beneath  the 
deep,  dark  blue  of  the  night  sky. 

Simplicity  is  peculiarly  native  to  these  Celtic 
people,  a  simplicity  that  is  subtly  blended  with 
great  strength,  gentle  courtesy,  intense  spiritual- 
ity. Their  tenacious  loyalty  to  the  past,  wrought 


84     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

with  its  traditions  and  feudalistic  ideals,  steeps 
the  atmosphere  in  that  of  royal  France,  the  fleur- 
de-lis  not  dead  though  trampled  underfoot,  its 
bruised  sweetness  still  lingering  among  the  hills 
of  France.  Yet  beyond  these  hills  of  "ancient 
silence"  and  the  forest  of  Broceliande  lies  mod- 
ernity, and  thither  is  the  future  beckoning  them, 
even  as  France,  unknowingly  perhaps,  is  looking 
unto  the  hills. 


III.    DINAN  AND  JOSSELIN 

DINAN  and  Josselin  though  of  different  types 
of  hill-town, — the  fortified  citadel  type 
and  the  seigneurial, — are  yet  inevitably  linked 
and  bound  together  by  their  history ;  and  both  are 
still  undisturbed  by  the  whirr  of  modern  indus- 
trialism, unspoiled  by  that  present-day  vandal 
the  tourist. 

Dinan  is  a  melange  of  all  that  is  old  and  pic- 
turesque, and  its  greatest  charm  is  its  unexpected 
quaint  corners.  The  hill  on  which  it  stands  rises 
abruptly  from  the  wooded  valley  of  the  Ranee, 
its  ancient  walls  and  towers  skirting  the  crest  of 
the  hill  silhouetted  against  the  azure  June  sky, 
their  hoary  greyness  set  in  the  deep  green  of  the 
verdure-clad  hillside.  Its  streets,  sinuous  and 
often  steep,  are  full  of  mediaeval  corners,  the 
houses  displaying  a  great  variety  of  architec- 
ture,— some  with  sculptured  pillars,  some  half- 
timbered  with  sharp  pointed  roofs  reminiscent  of 
Switzerland,  the  finely  carved  eaves  overshadow- 
ing the  narrow  street.  A  sudden  turn  will  lead 
into  an  arcade  supported  by  pillars  grotesquely 
85 


86     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

carved;  then  again  one  passes  an  old  house  with 
a  Gothic  porch  fantastically  carved,  or  with  a 
balcony  of  exquisite  wrought  iron  work.  At  the 
end  of  one  street  one  comes  upon  a  superb  Re- 
naissance gateway  surmounted  by  a  balustrade,  a 
scroll  work  of  dolphins  that  terminate  in  ara- 
besques. This  gateway  opens  into  an  old  court 
flanked  on  three  sides  by  buildings  now  worm- 
eaten  and  falling  to  decay,  but  that  in  medieval 
days  were  the  abiding  place  of  the  Duke  de  Beau- 
manoir  and  his  gaily-clad  retinue,  that  same 
Beaumanoir  who  for  a  space  dwelt  within  the 
granite  walls  of  Chateau  Josselin.  In  the  rue  de 
1'Horloge  stands  the  fifteenth  century  belfrey,  de- 
faced and  ruinous,  the  great  square  tower  cut  in 
bizarre  fashion  in  the  middle  by  a  Gothic  campa- 
nile with  a  gallery.  From  the  centre  of  this  gal- 
lery is  suspended  the  municipal  clock  given  to 
the  good  people  of  Dinan  by  the  Duchess  Anne 
in  1507.  The  curious  old  rue  de  Jerzual  is  so 
steep  that  the  houses  descend  cascade-like  to  the 
Ravin  de  Jerzual,  the  lower  end  of  the  street 
guarded  by  the  moss-grown  Porte  de  Jerzual,  dat- 
ing from  the  thirteenth  century.  The  exterior  of 
the  gate  is  Gothic,  severe,  machicolated  and 
pierced  by  a  Gothic  arch;  its  interior  is  Roman- 
esque as  revealed  by  the  rounded  entrance  arch 


DINAN  AND  JOSSELIN  87 

and  by  the  two  open  arches  above,  a  gateway 
unique  and  in  keeping  with  the  rest  of  this  an- 
cient street  where  even  the  tanneries  just  beyond 
the  gate,  their  facades  yellow  and  brown  toned 
to  black,  add  to  the  mediaeval  quaintness  and  soft 
beauty  of  the  old  town  steeped  in  the  atmosphere 
of  its  great  past. 

St.  Sauveur  is  nobly  set  upon  its  pedestal  of 
rock,  its  exterior  and  its  interior  a  curious  jumble 
of  four  periods  of  architecture, — Romanesque, 
Gothic,  Renaissance,  Eighteenth  Century, — pro- 
ducing an  effect  in  part  beautiful,  in  part  bizarre. 
The  west  front  belongs  to  two  periods :  the  lower 
portion  is  Romanesque,  the  upper  with  its  high 
gable  fifteenth  century  Gothic.  The  choir  and 
apse  are  really  fine,  but  the  central  tower  is  heavy 
and  unlovely,  a  product  of  the  pseudo-classic 
Eighteenth  Century.  The  chief  interest  in  this  old 
church  centres  about  a  stone  marking  the  spot 
where  the  great  heart  of  Bertrand  de  Guesclin 
lies  buried  close  to  the  tomb  of  his  wife  the  gentle 
Tiphaine  de  Raguenel,  la  Fee,  whose  love  he  won 
on  the  occasion  of  his  crossing  swords  with  an 
English  knight,  one  Thomas  de  Cantorbery,  ac- 
cording to  the  Breton  chronicles,  a  captain  in  the 
English  host  which  in  conjunction  with  Jean  de 
Montfort's  army  was  at  this  time  under  the  lead- 


88     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

ership  of  the  Duke  of  Lancaster,  laying  siege  to 
Dinan.  In  this  year  1359,  De  Montfort  was 
warring  with  Charles  of  Blois  for  the  dukedom  of 
Brittany,  and  Du  Guesclin  assisted  by  the  Sire 
de  Penhoet  le  Boiteux,  a  scion  of  the  Penhoets 
of  Josselin,  was  defending  Dinan  against  these 
stalwart  foes.  On  the  defection  of  his  brother  to 
the  English  camp,  De  Guesclin,  in  an  outburst  of 
wrath  against  such  treachery,  sent  a  challenge 
to  Cantorbery,  offering  to  meet  him  in  the  Place 
du  Marche  in  single  combat,  and  promising  safe 
conduct  to  the  English  knights  who  might  ac- 
company him,  provided  they  in  return  pledged 
their  good  faith.  The  challenge  was  accepted, 
the  combat  taking  place  amid  a  gaily-bedizened 
throng  of  belted  knights  and  noble  ladies.  The 
English  knight  proved  no  match  for  the  prowess 
of  Du  Guesclin,  and  Cantorbery,  wounded  and 
chagrined,  returned  to  the  English  camp  swearing 
vengeance  for  his  humiliation.  After  many  weeks, 
the  English  were  forced  to  raise  the  siege  of  this 
stalwart  old  town  that  later  was  to  receive  Du 
Guesclin  as  Connetable  de  France  when  he  re- 
turned to  take  possession  of  in  it  the  name  of  the 
king,  Charles  V. 

In  the  far-off  days  of  Middle  Age,  Dinan  was 
s^irrounded  by  a  "chaplet  of  fifty-four  towers," 


DINAN  AND  JOSSELIN 


89 


the  enceinte  being  completed  in  the  fourteenth 
century  by  the  building  of  the  chateau  which  was 
incorporated  in  the  town  walls.  Of  the  four  town 
gates,  three  remain  in  fair  preservation,  the  Porte 
de  Jerzual,  the  Porte  Saint  Louis  near  the  cha- 
teau and  remodelled  in  the  eighteenth  century, 
and  the  Porte  Saint  Malo.  The  beautiful  allees 


de  la  Duchesse  Anne 


arched  with  trees,  and  once  the  great  and  the  little 
fosses,  lead  respectively  to  the  Porte  de  Brest  and 
the  ruinous  walls  of  the  chateau,  and  to  the  don- 
jon of  the  chateau,  this  superb  oval  tower  of 
Queen  Anne  rising  isolated  and  majestic,  its  only 
communication  with  the  Tour  de  Coetquen  and 
the  rest  of  the  chateau,  a  slender  aerial  arched 
bridge,  picturesque  and  unique.  The  donjon  is 
reinforced  by  a  buttress  of  masonry  and  is  pierced 


90     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

here  and  there  by  heavily  grilled  windows,  its  sum- 
mit crowned  by  machicolations.  This  splendid  old 
fortress  was  for  many  years  one  of  the  chief 
strongholds  of  the  Duke  de  Mercceur,  and  a  bul- 
wark of  the  leaguers;  but  Henvy  IV.'s  defection 
to  Catholicism  dealt  a  death  blow  to  the  League, 
and  the  town  soon  after  opened  its  gates  to  the 
king,  thus  ending  the  chateau's  role  as  a  great 
fortress.  The  northern  side  of  the  ramparts  are 
in  ruins,  the  dismantled  walls  and  crumbling  tow- 
ers ivy-grown  and  lichen-covered;  playthings  of 
wind  and  weather  these  century-scarred  battle- 
ments, their  grey  grimness  warmed  by  the  masses 
of  wild  pinks  blooming  in  riotous  profusion  in 
every  crack  and  cranny  of  the  stout  masonry. 
Such  too,  is  the  ancient  gate  of  Saint  Malo,  its 
bridge  moss-grown,  its  moat  a  tangle  of  weeds 
and  debris.  From  these  crumbling  ramparts  one 
can  look  down  upon  the  jumble  of  roofs  of  the 
town  basking  in  the  June  sunshine,  the  Tour  de 
1'Horloge  on  one  side,  and  St.  Sauveur  on  the 
other.  Within  the  shadow  of  the  chateau  walls, 
just  below  St.  Sauveur  there  is  a  broad  shaded 
walk,  once  part  of  the  fortifications,  that  over- 
hangs the  beautiful  wooded  valley  where  flows 
the  Ranee,  the  grey  line  of  the  ramparts  fringed 


DINAN  AND  JOSSELIN  91 

by  the  oak-clad  hill  reflected  in  its  deep  green 
waters. 

The  environments  of  Dinan  are  full  of  interest 
with  everywhere  lovely  wood  paths  that  one  may 
follow  at  will.  There  is  the  chateau  of  Lehon 
grouped  in  the  coolness  of  its  nest  of  leaves  about 
the  ruins  of  the  monastery  of  the  monks  of  Mar- 
moutiers.  In  the  thirteenth  century  priory  church, 
its  arches  open  to  the  sky,  is  found  the  mortuary 
chapel  of  the  House  of  Beaumanoir,  the  church 
the  centre  of  the  old  conventual  buildings  that 
sleep  beside  the  Ranee.  The  walk  to  Claude 
Touissaint's  chateau  of  La  Garaye,  a  mere  rem- 
nant of  broken  wall  and  one  crumbling  tower,  is 
reached  by  shaded  walks  and  by-paths,  the  final 
approach  down  a  long  avenue  of  sunflecked 
beeches  ending  at  the  entrance  gate  of  the  chateau. 
Everywhere  the  bright  June  sunshine  filters 
through  the  murmuring  green  leaves,  leaves  set 
aquiver  by  the  summer  breeze  soft  with  the  tang 
of  the  sea;  and  everywhere  the  birds  singing,  sing- 
ing, the  forest  vibrant  with  their  song.  On  the 
return  that  June  evening,  we  met,  my  friend  and 
I,  a  wedding  procession  led  by  a  Breton  "fiddler," 
the  bride  wearing  a  wreath  of  orange  blossoms, 
and  a  spray  in  her  black  dress.  The  groom  also 
wore  a  spray  of  the  flowers  in  his  button  hole, 


92     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

while  to  appear  at  ease  he  assumed  complete  in- 
difference to  his  bride  by  smoking  a  long  cigar. 
Behind  them  came  the  maid  of  honour,  arm  in 
arm  with  the  best  man,  the  guests  following  two 
by  two  down  the  village  street.  This  is  the  charm 
of  Brittany:  her  past  still  lives,  is  part  of  the 
people's  life,  religious  or  social ;  it  is  not  dead  nor 
even  outgrown. 

The  road  to  La  Belliere,  the  old  moated  chateau 
of  the  Lady  Tiphaine,  leads  through  the  little 
hamlet  of  Vicomte,  and  on  Corpus  Christi  one  may 
see  the  peasants  preparing  for  a  procession  in  hon- 
our of  the  Fete  Dieu.  It  was  one  of  those  dreamy 
June  days,  the  air  redolent  of  new-mown  hay, 
that  quite  by  chance  we  discovered  Vicomte  in  the 
midst  of  its  festal  preparations.  On  either  side 
of  the  village  street  sheets  and  table  clothes  fes- 
tooned with  roses  and  ferns  had  been  hung,  the 
road  also  strewn  with  flowers  and  greens  from  the 
church  to  the  grove  of  oaks  where  an  altar  had 
been  erected  for  Benediction.  The  procession 
formed  at  the  church,  little  girls  in  white,  carrying 
banners,  coming  first.  Next  came  acolytes  in  red 
cassocks  and  lace  cottas,  followed  by  boys  wear- 
ing red  sashes  and  wreathes  on  their  heads;  after 
these,  the  peasant  women  in  black  dresses  and 
white  lace  caps,  their  fine  faces  aglow  with  deep 


DINAN  AND  JOSSELIN  93 

spiritual  devotion.  It  was  an  impressive  sight  to 
see  these  people  worshipping  in  the  grove,  chant- 
ing and  then  kneeling  in  silence  as  the  priest  lifted 
up  the  Host  in  Benediction.  The  scene,  as  at 
Saint-Jean-du-Doigt,  was  reminiscent  of  old  druid 
days,  a  more  powerful  witness  even  than  the  giant 
Menhir  of  Saint  Samson  standing  not  far  away  in 
another  grove  of  oaks. 

Wandering  back  by  the  winding  river,  a  sud- 
den turn  revealed  the  old  grey  town  caught  in 
the  gold  glow  of  sunset,  its  crenellated  walls  and 
towers  silhouetted  against  the  azure  sky.  From 
the  quay  one  can  trace  the  road  leading  upward- 
to  the  foot  of  the  rue  de  Jerzual  where  stands  the 
moss-grown  bridge,  its  Gothic  arches  a  yellow 
patch  amid  the  green  of  the  hill  whose  sheer 
sides  are  mirrored  in  the  swift-flowing  Ranee. 
Brooding  in  the  summer  sunshine,  Dinan  sleeps 
upon  its  hill-top,  sunk  in  a  lethargy  of  dreams, 
the  peace  of  the  woods  and  hills  dwelling  in  its 
heart,  a  peace  that  is  atune  to  the  cloistered  song- 
sters singing  in  the  green-gold  beeches,  and  to  the 
soft  murmur  of  the  gleaming  river  wending  its 
way  ceaselessly  toward  the  sea. 

Across  the  low-lying  Breton  hills,  on  the  edge 
of  the  forest  of  Broceliande,  stands  the  superb  old 
chateau  of  Josselin,  its  feudal  thirteenth  century 


94     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

grimness  and  its  exquisite  fifteenth  century  beauty 
a  mingling  of  delicacy  and  strength,  of  severity 
and  a  wealth  of  beauty,  expressive  of  the  proud 
de  Rohans,  who  linked  by  blood  and  history  with 
the  greatest  names  of  France,  even  royalty  itself, 
still  dwell  within  its  walls.  The  chateau  grips 
the  edge  of  the  sheer  cliff  above  the  Oust  that  like 
a  silver  thread  winds  its  way  southward  between 
green  fields  and  low  scrub-clad  hills.  Josselin 
stands  upon  the  site  of  an  earlier  chateau  built 
in  the  eleventh  century  by  one  Odon,  Comte  de 
Porhoet,  ancestor  of  the  de  Rohans;  while  about 
its  walls  a  village  soon  grew  up,  so  says  the  Breton 
chronicler,  "under  the  protection  of  the  good  Vir- 
gin of  Roncier  and  this  Count  who  named  the 
chateau  after  his  eldest  son,  Josselin."  Thus 
from  its  birth,  Josselin  was  a  seigneurial  town, 
its  character  preserved  even  to-day  in  the  loyal 
devotion  of  the  townspeople  to  the  de  Rohan 
family. 

Josselin  was  the  ancient  capital  of  the  Comte 
de  Porhoet,  and  divided  its  allegiance  between 
the  chateau  and  the  mediaeval  church  dedicated  by 
the  first  Josselin  to  Notre  Dame  du  Roncier.  It 
has  been  a  place  of  pilgrimage  since  808,  the  year 
when  a  poor  labourer  while  digging  in  a  near-by 
field  unearthed  the  miraculous  statue  of  the 


DINAN  AND  JOSSELIN  95 

Blessed  Virgin.  The  field  where  the  statue  was 
found  is  "at  all  seasons  green  and  radiant  with 
blossoming  flowers,"  the  peasants  will  tell  you; 
"ever  since,  Madame,  and  this  is  the  field."  The 
most  ancient  portion  of  the  church  is  the  chapel 
of  St.  Catherine  and  the  beautiful  oratory  of 
Marguerite  de  Clisson,  now  restored  by  the  de 
Rohans.  This  chapel  of  St.  Marguerite  is  sep- 
arated from  the  choir  by  a  wall  pierced  by  two 
bays,  a  door  and  a  large  window  filled  with  ex- 
quisite tracery,  the  design  embodying  the  letter 
M,  proving  that  de  Clisson  the  Butcher  was  not 
wholly  devoid  of  sentiment.  The  church  opens 
upon  a  picturesque  square  from  which  radiate  tor- 
tuous, lane-like  streets  bordered  with  quaint  tim- 
bered houses,  many  of  them,  as  in  the  rue  St. 
Michel,  faced  with  stone,  embellished  with  sculp- 
tured ornaments,  coats  of  arms  and  corbels,  houses 
so  ancient  that  they  have  seen  the  passing  of 
Oliver  de  Clisson  and  Charles  of  Blois. 

The  eleventh  century  chateau  was  destroyed, 
the  present  one  dating  partly  from  the  thirteenth 
century,  partly  from  the  fifteenth,  and  from  its 
gates  the  Sire  de  Beaumanoir  and  his  gallant  com- 
pany of  thirty  knights  sallied  forth  to  the  famous 
combat  of  Mi-Voie.  The  Constable,  Oliver  de 
Clisson,  dwelt  here  with  his  wife  Marguerite  de 


96     THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

Rohan,  and  during  his  reign  the  chateau  was 
made  more  formidable,  the  defences  augmented 
by  the  building  of  the  donjon  and  also  additional 
towers  along  the  walls.  In  the  wars  with  Jean 
V.  de  Montfort,  Josselin  became  de  Clisson's 
principal  fortress,  and  during  one  of  his  absences, 
his  wife  Marguerite,  with  the  heroism  of  her  race, 
victoriously  withstood  a  siege  in  1393.  After 
peace  was  declared,  de  Clisson  became  guardian 
for  de  Montfort's  children.  De  Clisson's  daugh- 
ter Marguerite,  an  ambitious  and  unscrupulous 
woman,  having  married  a  son  of  Charles  of  Blois, 
hereditary  enemy  of  de  Montfort,  wished  her 
father  to  make  way  with  these  helpless  children. 
Her  father's  response  to  this  request  was  vigorous 
and  to  the  point,  for  he  promptly  kicked  her 
down  stairs,  she  being  known  thereafter  as  Mar- 
guerite la  Boiteuse. 

Like  Dinan,  Josselin  at  the  time  of  the  League 
was  one  of  the  strongholds  of  the  Duke  de  Mer- 
coeur;  but  after  the  League  disbanded,  Josselin 
ceased  to  be  of  much  importance,  falling  partly 
into  decay,  a  decay  that  was  further  assisted  by  the 
royal  decree  of  1629  commanding  all  inland 
castles  to  be  dismantled.  Of  this  great  family  of 
de  Rohan,  descendants  of  the  ancient  kings  and 
dukes  of  Brittany,  that  of  Alain,  Vicomte  de 


DINAN  AND  JOSSELIN  97 

Rohan,  is  perhaps  the  most  illustrious,  a  states- 
man and  a  knight  of  prowess  who  died 
in  1461,  and  who  during  the  captivity 
of  Duke  Jean  and  his  brothers  was  made 
by  royal  decree  governor  of  Brittany.  This 
Alain,  whose  two  daughters,  Marguerite  and 
Catherine,  were  destined  to  be  respectively  the 
grandmother  and  the  great-great-grandmother  of 
two  kings  of  France — Francis  I.  and  Henry  IV. — 
built  the  superb  Renaissance  facade  facing  the 
inner  court  of  the  chateau  which  is  in  such  marked 
contrast  to  the  severe  massive  exterior  capped  with 
its  three  round  towers.  A  lovely  driveway  leads 
up  to  this  Renaissance  side  of  the  chateau,  the 
road  winding  from  the  entrance  gate  shaded  with 
giant  trees,  and  across  the  old  moat  colour-flecked 
now  with  flowers,  to  the  magnificent  fourteenth 
century  donjon,  austere  and  majestic  despite  its 
thick  mantle  of  ivy.  Standing  beside  this  iso- 
lated tower,  one  gets  a  splendid  view  of  the  fif- 
teenth century  fagade,  the  glory  of  Josselin,  every 
detail  from  its  ten  dormer  windows  in  pairs  carved 
in  heavy  relief,  to  the  high  frontals  flanked  by 
richly  chiselled  pinnacles  and  the  deep  balustrade 
wrought  like  fine  lace  in  an  infinite  variety  of  de- 
signs, geometrical,  the  rose,  the  ermine,  the  fleur- 
de-lis,  and  intertwined  with  the  de  Rohan  devise 


98    THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

"A  PLUS."  Even  the  gargoyles,  representing  the 
heads  of  animals,  are  noticeably  fine;  the  whole 
chateau,  especially  its  fagade,  a  superb  monument 
of  a  by-gone  age.  Of  granite  it  is  fashioned  even 
as  the  rock  on  which  it  stands.  Near  the  keep  is 
the  castle  well,  its  wrought  iron  cover  embellished 
with  the  de  Rohan  coat  of  arms. 

An  atmosphere  of  wonderful  simplicity  blent 
subtly  with  princely  magnificence  pervades  Jos- 
selin,  and  the  note  of  fealty  and  loyal  devotion 
for  the  House  of  de  Rohan  displayed  by  the  old 
servitor,  who  with  profound  pride  ushered  us 
through  the  superb  apartments,  gave  one  a  sense 
of  slipping  back  into  the  days  of  royal  France,  the 
lilies  not  dead  though  trampled  under  foot,  their 
bruised  sweetness  lingering  among  these  Breton 
hills  and  valleys.  Of  a  truth  we  had  stepped 
into  a  royal  abode  inhabited  still  by  a  family  who 
to-day,  as  through  the  centuries,  are  spending 
themselves  in  loyal  service  to  France,  their  proud 
devise,  "Roi  ne  puis,  due  ne  daigne,  Rohan  suis," 
sending  them  forth  to  their  country's  aid, — prov- 
ing themselves  thus  worthy  of  so  splendid  an  in- 
heritance. From  far  across  the  hills  one  catches 
a  last  glimpse  of  the  chateau  bathed  in  the  mel- 
low sunset  light,  its  massive  walls  and  towers 
brooding  lovingly  above  the  century-stained  town 


DINAN  AND  JOSSELIN  99 

whose  pointed  roofs  seem  reaching  up  for  its  pro- 
tection; and  at  its  feet,  green  fields  cut  by  the 
silver  thread  of  the  river,  fields  that  stretch  out 
toward  the  romance-haunted  forest  of  Broce- 
liande,  the  magic  of  Merlin  spinning  its  web,  its 
gossamer  of  dreams  about  the  tiny  hill-town 
crowned  by  its  stately  chateau, — Josselin,  the 
eagle  poised  in  flight,  dwelling  in  the  heart  of 
Brittany's  scrub-clad  hills.  Dinan  overhanging 
the  green  valley  of  the  Ranee  is  no  less  feudal 
than  Josselin;  but  Dinan  is  essentially  a  citadel 
type  of  hill-town,  its  power,  its  strength,  resting 
largely  with  its  armed  citizens  to  defend  it.  Jos- 
selin, the  seigneurial  type,  emphasises  rather  the 
glory  of  tradition,  the  splendour  of  inheritance, 
an  inheritance  so  truly  royal  that  it  breathes  of 
the  spirit  of  a  genuine  democracy. 


IV 

TWO  HILL-TOWNS  OF  QUERCY 
I.    CAHORS 

AS  Languedoc  is  the  gateway  to  the  south,  so 
the  ancient  kingdom  of  Quercy  is  the  bor- 
derland between  north  and  south,  and  from  its 
earliest  history  was  the  continual  battleground  of 
Gaul  and  Roman,  of  Visigoth  and  Frank,  of 
Saracen  and  Hun,  of  Toulousian  and  Norman, 
of  French  and  English,  of  Huguenot  and  Catho- 
lic. Cahors,  the  capital  of  the  kingdom  of 
Quercy,  was  the  centre  of  this  strife  as  it  was  to 
become  a  centre  of  culture  and  learning  also.  It 
bears  the  hall-marks  of  its  struggles  for  indepen- 
dence, presenting  too  the  impress  of  those  pass- 
ings,— its  Roman  remains,  its  quaint,  winding 
streets  bordered  by  fine  mediaeval  houses,  its  curi- 
ous Bysantine  cathedral,  its  Tour  des  Pendus  so 
indicative  of  the  influence  of  the  Spanish  Moor, 
its  wonderful  Pont  de  Valentre,  its  best  preserved 
and  most  imposing  monument. 


102  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

Like  Uzerche,  Cahors  hints  of  the  South,  its 
sun-baked,  narrow  streets  shadowed  by  white  plas- 
tered houses  and  red-tiled,  overhanging  roofs;  its 
gardens  crammed  with  flowers  and  set  with  tropi- 
cal trees, — magnolias,  fig-trees,  pomgranites  and 
palms;  its  people  of  the  dark  Spanish  type  sug- 
gestive of  the  Basque  country,  of  the  inundation 
of  the  Saracens  in  the  early  days.  Overhead  the 
sky  is  cloudless,  of  that  clear-cut  blue-gold  be- 
speaking the  south;  the  air  is  redolent  of  flowers, 
and  drowsy  with  the  hum  of  mid-summer;  while 
at  night  when  the  moon  is  full,  locusts  sing 
through  the  long  hours,  reminiscent  of  the  silvery 
song  of  the  Kusa-Hibari  of  the  East  of  which 
Hearn  has  written  so  exquisitely.  The  simple 
dress  of  the  people  is  another  distinctive  feature, 
especially  that  of  the  men, — the  baggy  corduroy 
trousers,  the  broad,  red  sash  making  a  bright 
splash  of  colour  at  the  waist,  and  so  suited  to  their 
swarthy  complexions,  and  the  wide  sombreros; 
while  by  their  side  trudges  a  mouse-grey  bourro 
carrying  panniers  of  crockery  or  vegetables,  typi- 
cal of  Spain,  of  Provence,  of  the  Orient.  Even 
the  patois  possesses  the  rich  soft  cadence  of  the 
Iberian  tongue,  a  remnant  doubtless  of  the  Land- 
gue  d'Oc  spoken  in  mediaeval  days. 

Quercy  was  settled  in  the  early  days  by  the 


CAHORS  103 

Celtic  Gauls,  who,  coming  from  central  Asia, 
swept  across  the  mountain  barrier  into  this  south- 
eastern corner  of  France,  settling  in  Brittany  and 
Ireland  also.  Fighters  all,  these  Celts,  or  Carduci, 
yet  possessed  of  a  certain  sensitiveness  and  culture 
so  characteristic  of  them  to-day,  and  it  was  these 
men  of  Quercy  who  with  indomitable  courage 
held  out  longest  against  Csesar  and  his  Roman  co- 
horts. Uxellodunum,  which  some  historians  as- 
cribe as  the  site  of  Cahors,  put  up  such  an  heroic 
defence  that  Csesar  upon  capturing  the  town  com- 
manded that  all  the  prisoners'  hands  be  cut  off, — 
a  blot  surely  upon  Roman  civilisation  and  culture. 
Of  the  Roman  occupation,  there  is  much  evi- 
dence, the  remains  of  a  superb  aqueduct,  bits  of 
a  bridge,  an  amphitheatre  and  a  theatre,  and  the 
Portail  des  Thermes,  the  best  conserved  monu- 
ment of  Roman  civilisation  extant  in  Quercy. 

Cahors,  called  by  the  Romans  Divona  Cadur- 
corum,  was  a  town  of  importance  in  those  days, 
being  one  of  the  sixty  Gallic  cities  to  be  made 
the  capital  of  its  district,  and  answerable  only  to 
the  imperial  government  at  Lyons  for  any  out- 
breaks or  disorders  among  the  inhabitants.  Ro- 
man occupation  did  much  for  the  further  develop- 
ment of  culture  among  the  Gauls,  a  culture  into 
which  now  crept  Greek  as  well  as  Roman  influ- 


104  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

ence;  and  their  druidical  worship  gave  place  to 
Roman  paganism.  It  was  not  until  the  sixth  cen- 
tury that  this  little  kingdom  of  Quercy  was  ab- 
sorbed into  the  Frankish  empire,  when  it  became 
once  more  the  theatre  of  devastating  wars  culmi- 
nating in  the  invasion  of  Theodebert  who  burned 
Cahors  in  573.  It  was  at  this  period  that  the 
Carducians  abandoned  the  low  western  end  of  the 
peninsula  in  favour  of  the  hill-crest  of  the  east- 
ern side,  the  town  clustered  upon  the  heights  made 
nigh  impregnable  by  its  natural  defences, — the 
Lot  and  the  sheer  wall  of  rock  bordering  the 
river, — and  augmented  by  walls  and  towers.  The 
western  wall  of  great  height  and  thickness,  to-day 
replaced  by  the  fine  shaded  Boulevard  de  Gam- 
betta,  was  strengthened  by  a  wide  moat;  while 
the  land  side  of  the  town  was  fortified  by  walls, 
a  picturesque  Barbican  and  the  splendid  Tour  des 
Pendus  or  Tour  de  la  Barre  which  are  still  stand- 
ing. Thus  Cahors  was  really  reduced  to  half  its 
size,  much  of  the  Roman  portion  of  the  town  re- 
maining without  the  walls. 

For  nearly  a  century,  Cahors  was  under  the 
domination  of  the  Dukes,  or  Kings,  of  Aquitaine, 
and  it  was  during  this  time  that  the  Saracens, 
sweeping  across  the  Pyrenees,  captured  Cahors, 
the  imprint  of  their  passing  found  in  the  archi- 


CAHORS  105 

tecture,  the  Byzantine  domes  of  the  aisleless  cathe- 
dral of  St.  Etienne  being  essentially  Eastern. 
This  exotic  from  the  East  is  very  curious  in  that 
it  possesses  no  transepts,  and  that  the  nave  of  the 
church  is  lower  by  some  fifteen  steps  than  the  en- 
trance. The  carvings  are  distinctly  Byzantine, 
those  in  the  deeply  recessed  north  portal  being 
especially  fine;  and  everywhere  in  these  carvings 
is  intertwined  a  rose  resembling  the  Tudor  rose, — 
an  English  rose,  perchance,  blossoming  in  this 
fair  corner  of  France.  Or  is  it  merely  a  forgot- 
ten rose  of  near-by  Provence*?  The  paintings  in 
the  choir  are  quite  remarkable.  The  apse  was 
once  surmounted  by  two  fortified  watch  towers, 
recalling  the  fortified  tower  of  the  church  at 
Uzerche.  The  fifteenth  century  Gothic  cloisters 
are  very  beautiful  and  picturesque,  and  in  strange 
contrast  to  the  Romanesque  architecture  of  the 
cathedral,  though  marking  another  period  of  its 
growth. 

The  influx  of  the  Saracens  saw  Cahors  swear- 
ing fealty  to  the  Counts  of  Toulouse,  the  kings 
really  of  the  Midi,  and  for  four  hundred  years 
they  fought  under  the  banner  of  these  Visigothic 
overlords;  but  after  the  Albigensian  Crusade, 
Cahors  was  plundered  by  the  Normans  and  finally 
ceded  to  them  by  Saint  Louis.  It  reverted  to  the 


106  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

crown  of  France  in  1287  only  to  again  come  into 
the  possession  of  the  English,  being  ceded  to  them 
anew  during  the  Hundred  Years'  War  by  the 
shameful  Treaty  of  Bretigny,  the  town  surrender- 
ing to  that  famous  knight  of  Edward  III.,  Sir 
John  Chandos;  but  Cahors  remained  at  heart 
French,  and  never  lost  an  opportunity  to  rise  on 
the  slightest  provocation,  a  turbulence  the  Eng- 
lish were  never  wholly  able  to  suppress. 

During  this  period  Cahors  became  a  centre  of 
learning  and  culture,  and  through  Pope  John 
XXII.,  one  of  the  early  Popes  of  Avignon  and  a 
native  of  Cahors,  came  into  close  touch  with  Avig- 
non. The  picturesque  rue  de  PUniversite,  nar- 
row and  winding  and  consisting  throughout  its 
length  of  a  succession  of  arcades  varying  widely 
in  style,  passes  the  site  of  the  University  of  Ca- 
hors. Founded  by  Pope  John,  and  modelled  after 
the  Universities  of  Toulouse  and  Boulogne,  the 
University  for  over  four  hundred  years  ranked 
first  among  its'  compeers,  attracting  to  it  such  men 
as  Cujas,  Govea  and  Frangois  Roaldes,  its  fame 
spreading  into  all  parts  of  France.  The  octagonal 
tower  with  its  beautiful  spiral  staircase  of  the 
near-by  College  Pelegry  was  a  dependency  of  the 
University,  its  purpose  to  enable  a  certain  num- 
ber of  students  by  means  of  scholarships  to  con- 


Cahors,  Rue  dei'Universite. 


107 


io8  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

tinue  their  studies  at  the  University  free  of  ex- 
pense. It  was  this  college  which,  during  the  Re- 
ligious Wars,  gave  the  first  alarm  of  the  approach 
of  Henry  of  Navarre,  as  it  was  the  last  to  yield  to 
the  king,  a  resistance  for  which  they  paid  heavily 
when  Henry  finally  took  the  town  by  assault  in 
1580,  despite  the  heroism  of  the  people  led  by 
the  brave  Senechal  de  Vezins.  So  Cahors  be- 
came again  and  for  the  last  time  a  crown  posses- 
sion. When  in  1751  the  University  was  incor- 
porated with  the  University  of  Toulouse,  the  Col- 
lege Pelegry  was  absorbed  by  the  Toulousian  Col- 
lege Saint-Martial.  The  fifteenth  century  house 
of  the  Roaldes  family,  possessing  still  an  exqui- 
sitely carved  doorway  and  window,  a  spiral  stair- 
case and  a  fine  old  fireplace,  was  used,  according 
to  tradition,  as  a  residence  by  Henry  IV.,  and  to 
this  day  bears  his  name,  although  still  belonging 
to  the  Roaldes.  One  could  wander  for  days 
through  these  quaint  old  streets  of  the  populous 
quarter  of  the  Badernes,  finding  at  every  turn 
some  new  object  of  interest,  some  beautiful  bit 
of  mediaeval  or  Renaissance  work  that  stirs  one's 
aesthetic  sense.  This  old  part  of  Cahors  reeks 
of  medisevalism,  its  lane-like  streets  bordered,  as 
in  the  rue  Nationale  or  the  rue  des  Boulevards,  by 
houses  dating  from  the  thirteenth  to  the  sixteenth 


CAHORS 


109 


century,  ranging  in  style  from  exquisite  early 
Gothic  to  late  Renaissance  ornate  in  its  richness 
of  carving  and  design. 

The  Chateau  du  Roi,  dating  from  the  sixteenth 
century,  stands  upon  the  site  of  the  ancient  Sene- 
chal's  Court,  its  great 
square  tower  dominat- 
ing the  Porte-Bullier 
quarter.  In  this  an- 
cient quarter,  its  sharp 
turnings,  its  ruined 
arches,  its  stone  steps 
and  innumerable  zig- 
zags suggestive  of  a 
Jewish  Ghetto  which 
perchance  it  was,  is 
the  rue  du  Four-Saint- 
Catherine,  the  most 
curious  of  the  many 
tortuous  ways  of  this  Cahors 
hill-town  of  Quercy. 
The  town  of  the  Middle  Ages  ends  at  the  church 
of  St.  Bartholomew  standing  near  the  site  of  the 
ancient  citadel,  the  church  a  beautiful  though  un- 
finished example  of  pure  Gothic,  possessing  no 
apse,  its  belfry  once  part  of  the  fortifications,  as 
was  the  stately  neighbouring  tower  of  Pope 


vim 


:% 


Fenetrc  de  Renaissance 


110 


THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 


John's  ruined  palace.  The  Cours  de  la  Chart- 
reuse, now  a  lovely  shaded  walk,  recalls  the  fa- 
mous Carthusians  of  the  Grande  Chartreuse,  the 
parent  house  in  Dauphiny  establishing  a  branch 
of  their  Order  here  in  1320  by  the  command  of 
Pope  John. 

The  glory  of  Cahors  is  the  Pont  Valentre,  a 
superb  example  of  fourteenth  century  secular 
work,  its  building  attributed  to  an  architect  who 
bargained  away  his  soul  to  the  Devil,  the  bridge 
thus  being  named  by  the  populous,  the  Pont  du 
Diable.  The  work  begun  in  1308,  was  still  un- 
finished in  1378,  and  the  architect,  so  says  a 
chronicler  of  the  time,  despairing  of  the  slow  pro- 
gression of  the  work,  which  was  likewise  injur- 
ing his  reputation,  made  a  compact  with  the 
Devil,  promising  to  surrender  his  soul  in  return 
for  Satan's  faithful  obedience  in  executing  all  his 
commands  without  question  or  dispute.  The  com- 
pact signed  and  sealed,  the  construction  advanced 
with  astonishing  rapidity,  the  Devil  transporting 
the  great  blocks  of  stone  to  the  workmen,  a  task 
which  he  accomplished  with  marvellous  efficiency. 
As  the  towers  neared  completion,  the  soul  of  the 
architect  became  emperiled;  but  he  was  equal  to 
the  occasion,  outwitting  the  Devil  by  a  cleverly 
devised  scheme,  ordering  him  to  carry  in  a  sieve 


i 


CAHORS  ill 

the  water  necessary  to  the  masons  in  dissolving 
the  lime.  Satan  knew  himself  tricked,  yet  en- 
deavoured to  execute  the  command;  but  despite 
the  swiftness  of  his  flight,  he  reached  the  work- 
men each  time  with  an  empty  sieve.  Acknowl- 
edging his  defeat,  the  wily  demon  planned  swiftly 
his  revenge.  "Thou  hast  vanquished  me,"  he  said 
to  the  architect,  "but  one  tower  I  shall  make  sport 
of  in  my  own  fashion."  So  he  flew  away  leaving 
behind  him  a  strong  odour  of  sulphur.  The  bridge 
quickly  reached  completion,  when  suddenly  the 
northeast  angle  of  the  central  tower  broke  off.  It 
was  repaired  only  to  crack  and  fall  again,  a  sport 
that  the  Devil  continued  to  delight  in  until  in 
1880  Monsieur  Gout,  an  architect,  circumvented 
him  by  carving  upon  the  angle  of  the  stone  a  fig- 
ure of  his  satanic  majesty  endeavouring  to  tear 
down  the  work  of  the  architect  whose  soul  had 
escaped  him.  The  Pont  Valentre,  which  by 
means  of  a  chatelet  adjoined  and  was  an  integral 
part  of  the  town  walls,  was  restored  in  1880  by 
this  same  Monsieur  Gout  from  plans  of  Viollet 
le  Due,  its  three  majestic  towers,  two  of  which 
are  machicolated,  and  its  superb  arches  command- 
ing the  Lot  on  the  western  side  of  the  town,  as 
the  other  two  bridges,  the  thirteenth  century  Pont- 
Neuf  and  the  Pont-Vieux  originally  of  much  the 


112  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

same  character,  commanded  the  Lot  on  the  south 
and  east.  The  upper  side  of  the  bridge  is  heavily 
flanked  with  avant-becs  which  not  only  broke  the 
force  of  the  current,  but  prevented  the  ice  flows  in 
winter  from  jamming  the  bridge. 

In  this  nigh-forgotten  corner  of  France,  then, 
one  finds  Cahors,  once  the  capital  of  a  kingdom 
and  a  centre  of  learning,  its  culture  drawn  largely 
from  Provence  with  which  it  came  in  contact 
through  its  scholars,  Cujas,  Roaldes,  and  above 
all  Pope  John  XXII.,  who  reigned  at  Avignon, 
but  whose  heart  dwelt  ever  within  the  walls  of 
the  place  that  gave  him  birth.  All  the  culture  of 
the  ancient  world,  Greek,  Roman,  Eastern,  gave 
of  its  best  to  this  part  of  France,  and  Cahors  ab- 
sorbing, in  turn  gave  back  again  an  hundred- 
fold,— the  splendid  heritage  of  an  indomitable 
race.  Cahors,  brooding  upon  its  hill-top,  and 
lulled  by  the  drowsy  hum  of  mid-summer  and  the 
soft  swish  of  the  Lot,  dreams  of  the  greatness  of 
her  past;  while  spanning  the  river  on  the  west, 
the  Pont  Valentre  in  silent  majesty  guards  still 
the  entrance  gate  of  this  ancient  city  of  the 
Gauls, — symbol  of  the  militant  spirit  of  its 
people,  even  as  the  giant  tower  of  Pope  John's 
palace  holds  in  remembrance  their  culture,  their 
high  aspirations,  these  two  characteristics  the  key- 


CAHORS  113 

note  of  a  people  who  "made  war  not  only  upon 
men  but  upon  nature  and  the  gods."  Cahors  set 
about  by  hills,  and  rising  upon  the  borderland  of 
Provence,  is  redolent  of  the  South,  its  culture, 
its  art,  its  love  of  beauty  harking  back  to  the  days 
of  Rene  of  Anjou  and  of  Pope  John,  that  Golden 
Age  of  chivalry  and  romance,  of  culture  and  re- 
ligious enthusiasm  that  was  productive  of  great 
art,  deep  learning,  religious  devotion, — the  age  of 
the  mystic  who,  visioning  splendid  visions  and 
dreaming  great  dreams,  resolved  them  into  living 
realities. 


II.    ROCAMADOUR 

ONE  of  the  charms  of  France  is  its  infinite 
variety,  each  province  differing  from  an- 
other not  only  in  physiognomy  and  customs,  but 
oftentimes  even  in  race.  Brittany  is  primitive. 
Rocamadour,  on  the  other  hand,  dreams  in  the 
aftermath  of  an  historic  past  that  includes  the 
civilisation  and  the  culture  of  the  Golden  Age. 
The  romantic  atmosphere  of  the  troubadour  and 
the  trouvere  lingers  amid  its  rock-hewn  solitudes ; 
Provence,  the  South,  and  the  magic  of  the  East 
haunt  its  silences;  the  song  of  Roland  floats  up 
the  valley  echoing  the  war-cry  of  Roncesvalles, 
the  struggle  between  Orient  and  Occident. 

The  romantic  background  of  Brittany  lies  in 
the  magic  of  its  woods  and  hills,  its  emerald  sea, 
the  primitiveness  of  its  people.  The  romantic 
background  of  Rocamadour  is  as  richly  coloured 
as  a  rare  old  tapestry,  and  as  closely  crowded  with 
heroes  and  picturings  of  their  valiant  deeds. 
Kings,  knights,  ecclesiastics  and  crenellated  towers 
loom  up  upon  this  background  of  her  past,  a  bril- 
liant pageant  of  chivalric  splendour,  ecclesiastical 

H4 


ROCAMADOUR  115 

magnificence,  Renaissance  culture,  following 
along  the  "Way  of  the  Saint"  that  winds  up  the 
steep  to  the  shrine  of  Saint  Amadour.  He  was  a 
servant  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  so  says  the  twelfth 
century  chronicler,  Robert  de  Thorigny,  who,  in 
the  first  century,  at  her  command,  came  out  of 
the  East  going  over  seas  and  across  mountains, 
and  taking  up  his  abode  at  last  amid  the  grey 
solitudes  of  this  desolate  gorge.  Thus  Rocama- 
dour,  holding  within  its  heart  the  hermit's  shrine, 
has  ever  been  set  apart  as  sacred,  the  holiest  spot 
in  France,  where  king  and  peasant  alike  ap- 
proached upon  their  knees,  chanting  in  unison  Ave 
Maria!  the  song  that  has  made  vibrant  the  deep 
silences  of  the  lonely  gorge  through  long  cen- 
turies of  worship;  the  song  that  even  now  floats 
upward  into  the  golden  stillness  of  the  September 
air  when  from  far  and  near,  pilgrims  gather  to 
keep  her  great  fete  of  the  year, — the  Nativity  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin. 

As  in  a  tapestry  exquisite  landscape  vistas  in- 
tersperse the  brilliant  pageant  of  massed  figures, 
so  at  Rocamadour  Nature  enhances  the  scene.  A 
road  stretching  monotonously  across  the  rude,  arid 
wastes  of  the  Gausses  of  Gramat,  passes  after  four 
or  five  kilometres  through  a  tunnel  rough-hewn 
out  of  the  crest  of  the  hill.  A  sharp  turn  at  the 


ii6  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

far  end  of  it  swings  the  road  suddenly  to  the  edge 
of  the  plateau,  and  from  the  heights  there  lies 
revealed  all  the  grandeur,  the  stern,  wild  beauty 
of  the  gorge,  the  picturesqueness  of  the  mediaeval 
hill-town  gripping  the  precipitous  sides  with  the 
grimness  of  the  eagle  who  feels  the  all-mastering 
power  of  the  giant  cliffs  that  overshadow  it.  Far 
below  the  silvery  music  of  the  Alzou  murmurs 
dreamily  as  it  wends  its  way  along  the  gorge, 
skirting  the  huddling  houses  hedged  in  by  crumb- 
ling ramparts  and  crowned  by  the  swallow-tailed 
turrets  of  the  chateau  which  broods  lovingly  above 
their  bizarre,  grizzled  roof-tops.  Ordinarily,  the 
hill-towns  clustering  about  the  chateau  are  the 
outgrowths  of  its  presence.  The  chateau  was  the 
centre  of  their  life,  the  sign  and  seal  of  feudalism. 
Not  so  Rocamadour,  hill-town  of  the  fourth  type. 
Here  the  town  as  at  Mont-Saint-Michel  and  at 
Le  Puy  grew  not  about  a  chateau,  but  a  shrine, — 
that  rock-hewn  sanctuary  of  Saint  Amadour. 

The  road  drops  swiftly  to  the  valley,  following 
along  the  edge  of  the  ravine  and  entering  the  vil- 
lage by  the  Porte  du  Figuier,  a  stalwart  bulwark 
of  defence  that  is  further  augmented  by  a  second 
gate,  the  Porte  Salmon,  which  is  surmounted  by 
a  donjon,  and  which  leads  into  the  principal  street 
of  Rocamadour.  This  rue  de  la  Couronnerie  re- 


Rocamadour  from  the  Valley 


ROCAMADOUR  .117 

calls  the  crowning  of  Henry  of  the  Short  Ham- 
mer, a  son  of  Henry  II.  of  England,  who  was 
crowned  here  King  of  Aquitaine.  Besides  the 
great  flight  of  stone  steps  that  leads  up  to  the 
sanctuaries,  and  close  to  the  Porte  Hugon,  rise 
the  massive  remnants  of  the  ruined  Chateau  de  la 
Charette,  of  whose  origin  history  traces  but  a 
dimmed  record,  yet  determining  it  as  part  of  the 
giant  network  of  defence  that  surrounds  this  rock- 
bound  shrine.  These  fortifications  may  be  traced 
to  the  solitary  tower  standing  by  the  Alzou  be- 
yond the  Porte  Basse,  grim  and  solitary,  a  silent 
witness  of  a  mighty  past. 

The  long,  straight,  massive  staircase,  two  hun- 
dred and  sixteen  stone  steps  in  all,  seems  a  veri- 
table Jacob's  ladder,  leading  upward  and  losing 
itself  in  the  infinitude  of  blue,  the  steep,  century- 
worn  way  that  leads  of  a  truth  to  the  very  gate 
of  the  sanctuary,  into  the  Holy  of  Holies, — the 
pilgrims'  way  by  which  kings  and  princes,  pre- 
lates and  monks,  knights  and  peasants,  a  devout 
retinue,  have  climbed  upon  their  knees,  reciting  at 
each  step  the  angelic  salutation.  First  among  the 
pilgrims  who  came  to  worship  at  the  shrine,  was 
Roland,  the  mighty  warrior  who,  with  Olivier, 
Ogier,  and  Anseis,  three  of  Charlemagne's  trusty 
knights,  paused  to  do  honour  to  the  Blessed  Vir- 


Stone  Staircase  Leading  to  the  Sanctuaries. 


118 


ROCAMADOUR  119 

gin  on  their  way  to  Roncesvalles  in  778.  Here, 
too,  came  Saint  Louis,  his  brothers  and  his  mother, 
Queen  Blanche  in  1245.  Still  later  came  Charles 
le  Bel,  Philippe  de  Valois,  and  the  cruel  Louis 
XL,  who  sought  to  assuage  his  accusing  con- 
science with  pious  acts  of  devotion. 

The  steps  lead  up  to  a  courtyard  partly  sur- 
rounded by  hostelries,  in  former  times  used  as  resi- 
dences by  the  canons.  On  one  side  rises  the  Fort, 
the  ancient  palace  of  the  bishops  of  Tulle.  The 
thick  wall,  flanked  by  an  imposing  round  tower, 
is  pierced  by  a  beautiful  Gothic  archway  through 
which  access  is  gained  to  the  sacred  enclosure. 
Fortified  at  every  point,  yet  touched  with  a  deli- 
cacy of  construction  in  its  triple  and  quadruple 
bays,  divided  by  slim  pilasters  bespeaking  the 
beauty  of  the  South,  it  stands  dominating  yet 
dominated  by  the  rugged  mass  of  rock  overshad- 
owing it.  Beside  the  archway  a  picturesque  beg- 
gar, with  southern  eyes  looking  appealingly  into 
yours,  stretches  out  a  lean,  brown  hand  for  cop- 
pers. Passing  beneath  the  Porte  du  Fort,  one 
reaches,  after  a  stiff  climb  of  seventy-six  steps, 
the  Parvis,  an  inner  court,  the  heart  of  the  sanc- 
tuary, and  completely  surrounded  by  its  seven 
chapels  and  the  towering  rocks  that  on  one  side 
quite  shut  out  the  sky.  Of  these  seven  chapels, 


120  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

the  twelfth  century  Church  of  Saint  Sauveur  is 
the  most  imposing,  the  Baptistry  of  Saint  Jean 
the  most  beautiful,  the  Chapel  of  Notre  Dame  the 
most  holy,  and  above  its  portals  are  centred  the 
worship  and  devotion  of  the  pilgrims.  To  the 
left  of  its  flamboyant  portal  is  the  rock-hewn  cave 
in  which  the  good  Saint  Amadour  lived.  His 
body  was  found  here  in  1166  and  was  removed 
with  great  pomp  and  ceremony  to  the  crypt  of 
Saint  Amadour.  When  Rocamadour  was  demol- 
ished in  1562  by  an  over-zealous  Huguenot  cap- 
tain, one  Bessonies  by  name,  Saint  Amadour's 
body  was  burned.  Afterward  his  ashes  were  rev- 
erently gathered  by  the  faithful,  who  crept  back 
to  the  scorched  ruins,  and  placed  in  a  reliquary 
over  the  altar  in  the  crypt,  where  they  now  rest 
undisturbed. 

The  Miraculous  Chapel  of  Notre  Dame  is  built 
in  the  rock,  its  west  wall  but  the  rude,  chiselled 
rock — strong,  firm,  impenetrable — and  blackened 
now  by  the  lighted  candles  that  for  centuries  have 
been  kept  burning  bright,  even  as  the  love  that 
pervades  the  sanctuary.  Its  walls  are  covered  with 
banners,  pictures,  inscriptions,  votive  offerings  of 
all  sorts  that  the  pilgrims  for  centuries  have  left 
in  thanksgiving.  Above  the  altar  stands  the 
deeply  venerated  Black  Virgin,  a  wooden  figure 


121 


122  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

said  to  have  been  carved  by  Saint  Amadour  dur- 
ing his  solitary  sojourn  among  these  hills.  From 
the  central  arch  hangs  the  miraculous  bell,  dat- 
ing back  to  the  sixth  century,  of  which  legend 
recounts  that  it  "counteracts  any  evil  manifesta- 
tions on  the  part  of  Demons  or  those  who  deal  in 
Diabolism." 

Clinging  to  a  great  mass  of  overhanging  rock, 
the  tiny  eleventh  century  chapel  of  Saint  Michel 
overtops  the  rest  of  the  pinnacle-set  courtyard. 
The  walls  of  the  apse  are  decorated  with  quaint 
old  frescoes  of  the  twelfth  century,  representing 
Christ  surrounded  by  angels  and  the  four  Evan- 
gelists. From  an  exterior  gallery  the  much-loved 
Bishop  of  Cahors  gives  his  benediction  to  the 
crowd  of  pilgrims  in  the  courtyard  far  below.  To 
one  in  the  gallery  looking  down  upon  it,  empty 
and  silent  now,  rise  the  faces  of  that  great  mul- 
titude, faces  eager,  expectant,  emotion-swept, 
dark,  passionate,  a  wholly  southern  type  that 
tells  of  a  one-time  intercourse  with  the  people 
beyond  the  Pyrenees,  an  intercourse  that  harks 
back  to  the  time  of  Roland  and  the  field  of  Ron- 
cesvalles  gleaming  with  the  "shine  of  helmets 
studded  with  gold,  of  shields  and  white  broidered 
hauberks,  of  lances  and  gonfanons,"  when  the 
"Saracens  of  Spain  covered  the  hills  and  the  val- 


The  Sanctuaries 
Roc  a  in  a  dour. 


123 


124  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

leys,  the  heaths  and  the  plains."  It  was  on  his 
way  to  Roncesvalles  that  Roland  paused  to  make 
a  pilgrimage  at  Rocamadour,  vowing  his  jewelled 
sword  Durandal  a  votive  offering  to  Our  Lady, 
yet  leaving  instead  its  weight  in  gold,  that  he 
might  use  Durandal  in  succoring  France  from  the 
Saracen  hordes  that  were  threatening  her  border- 
lands. So  Roland  went  forth  with  Olivier  and 
his  host  to  Roncesvalles,  and,  dying  there  upon 
that  bloody  field,  he  sent  the  mighty  Durandal, 
"in  whose  golden  hilt  was  many  a  relic,"  back  to 
Rocamadour,  where  it  hung  in  the  chapel  of  the 
Black  Virgin  until  in  the  twelfth  century,  when  it 
disappeared,  stolen  by  the  vandal  hand  of  one 
whose  greed  outweighed  his  reverence.  A  heavy 
iron  sword,  a  replica  of  Durandal,  is  embedded  in 
the  east  wall  of  this  Chapel  of  Saint  Michel,  keep- 
ing bright  the  memory  of  Roland. 

The  people  of  Rocamadour  are  a  simple,  pas- 
toral people,  tilling  the  soil  where  its  barrenness 
will  yield;  growing  grapes  along  the  stony  slopes 
of  the  ravine;  haying  by  the  banks  of  the  Alzou; 
herding  their  cows  and  their  goats  along  the  hedge- 
rows; driving  their  oxen  over  the  steep,  winding 
roads.  They  are  a  swarthy  race,  with  large,  melt- 
ing, dark  eyes  and  black,  curling  hair,  their  beauty 
and  picturesqueness  hinting  not  only  of  Spain,  but 


ROCAMADOUR  125 

of  the  East,  that  indefinable  trace  of  the  Orient 
which  the  Saracen  has  stamped  indelibly  upon  this 
part  of  Occidental  Europe, — on  the  architecture, 
on  the  race.  Their  voices  are  soft  and  musical; 
their  language  is  a  remnant  of  the  Langue  d'Oc, 
echoing  of  the  troubadours  and  their  minstrelsy. 

Passing  from  the  Parvis  through  a  long,  dark, 
arched  passage,  one  comes  to  the  Way  of  the 
Cross,  a  winding  woodpath  marked  every  fifty 
feet  or  so  by  a  beautifully  wrought  station,  the 
gift  of  the  Bishop  of  Cahors.  The  figures  in  the 
fourteenth  and  last  station  represent  the  Entomb- 
ment, and  are  life-sized,  made  doubly  impressive 
by  the  fact  that  they  stand  in  a  cave  hewn  out 
of  the  rock.  Above,  on  the  summit  of  the  plateau, 
stands  a  giant  wooden  cross  that  during  the  last 
century  a  band  of  pilgrims  carried  all  the  way  to 
the  Holy  Sepulchre  at  Jerusalem. 

The  chateau,  save  for  its  deep  green  garden,  is 
neither  beautiful  nor  picturesque.  Its  outstand- 
ing walls  and  towers,  which  on  the  plateau  side 
were  originally  protected  by  a  moat,  are  gone. 
Only  its  swallow-tailed  inner  walls  remain.  Yet, 
from  them,  one  gets  wonderful  distant  views,  and 
can  grasp  best  the  marvel  and  impressiveness  of 
the  situation  of  the  gorge  and  the  town.  Here 
surely  the  grandeur  of  Nature  and  the  daring  of 


126  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

man  are  blent.  Silence  is  everywhere,  the  dreamy 
silence  of  late  afternoon,  the  dull  gold  of  sunset 
brooding  upon  the  stern,  wild  beauty  of  the  cliffs 
across  the  quiet  sky.  On  the  other  side  of  the 
of  the  chateau.  In  the  west,  billowy  clouds,  shot 
with  the  purple  gold  of  sunset,  drifted  dreamily 
across  the  quiet  sky.  On  the  other  side  of  the 
valley  a  trail  of  ox-carts  made  their  way  along  the 
Cahors  road,  the  song  of  the  drivers  floating  up- 
ward to  the  heights.  Far  up  the  gorge  one  can 
see  another  road  winding  down  the  valley,  the 
pilgrims'  road,  the  silence  tinged  by  the  faint  echo 
of  sleigh  bells,  a  party  returning,  perhaps,  from 
Padirac,  where  science  ten  years  ago  revealed  the 
marvellousness  of  Nature, — the  gouffres  and  sta- 
lactite chambers  of  the  nether  world. 

The  twilight  deepens,  and  the  shadows  turn 
the  dull  gold  of  the  sun  upon  the  cliff  to  blue.  Far 
below,  the  hushed  murmur  of  the  town  gathering 
to  rest  rises  to  the  chateau  walls.  From  the  other 
side  of  the  valley,  the  silvery  tinkle  of  goats'  bells 
and  the  intermittent  shrillness  of  a  night  bird  in- 
tensify the  stillness  of  the  sapphire  dusk  lighted 
by  the  spirit  world  of  stars.  Beyond  the  barren 
Gausses  of  Gramat  surges  the  tumult  of  the  world; 
but  here  in  the  valley  of  the  Alzou  there  dwells 
Peace, — the  peace  that  has  crept  into  the  hearts  of 


ROCAMADOUR  127 

the  pilgrim  hosts  who  have  journeyed  thither 
down  the  ages  to  worship  and  lay  their  gifts  at 
a  shrine. 

ROCAMADOUR 

The  air  was  still ;  no  sound 

Stirred  the  deep  silence  of  the  gorge  profound: 

Whose  stone-scarred  sides 

Are  worn  by  rude  centuries  of  tides, 

Of  changing  seasons,  and  the  march  of  men 
Chanting  their  Aves.    Thus  I  saw  them  when 
Sitting  beside  the  stream  in  dreamy  mood 
They  passed  me  by,  an  eager,  motley  crowd 
Bearing  the  pilgrim's  staff,  and  sandal  shod. 
Kings,  knights  and  beggars,  up  the  steep  incline 
They  pushed  their  way  to  worship  at  the  shrine 
Of  Amadour.    And  thus  I  see  them  now : 
Love's  ideal  claiming  still  the  pilgrim's  vow. 


THREE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  LANGUEDOC 
I.    NAJAC,  CARCASSONNE,  LASTOURS 

LANGUEDOC  is  the  gateway  to  the  South, 
its  country  wild  and  beautiful,  a  land  truly 
of  low  hills  and  green,  winding  valleys.  Its 
rugged  hillsides  are  wooded  with  locusts,  their  soft 
green  interspersed  with  grey  outcrops  of  rock, 
splashed  with  purple  heather.  The  fields  and 
hedgerows  are  colour-flecked  with  flowers — pinks, 
cornflowers;  while  in  the  gardens  oleanders,  pink 
and  white,  bloom  with  all  the  rich  extravagance 
of  the  South,  Provence,  the  East  even.  And  thus 
in  the  quiet  valley  of  the  Aveyron  lies  Najac  in 
the  early  morning  of  an  August  day,  the  dew  still 
glistening  upon  the  tangle  of  gorse,  heather  and 
blackberry  vines  that  clamber  up  the  sheer,  tower- 
ing cliff,  crowned  by  the  imposing  ruins  of  the 
chateau.  Like  Uzerche,  Najac  is  built  upon  a 
rockbound  peninsula,  surrounded  on  three  sides 
by  the  sparkling  Aveyron;  but  this  hill-town  is 
129 


130  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

distinctly  of  the  feudal  type  rather  than  the  com- 
munal, the  distinguishing  feature  of  Uzerche;  for 
the  town  straggling  along  the  hilltop  in  the  val- 
ley of  the  Aveyron  is  dominated  by  its  chateau, 
to  which  it  owes  its  birth. 

From  the  old  bridge  bordered  by  the  pic- 
turesque, moss-grown  mill,  a  steep  path  winds 
up  the  hill,  and  along  it,  superb  oxen,  their  eyes 
blindfolded  with  fringed-face  cloths,  made  their 
way  slowly  up  to  the  town,  accompanied  by  dark- 
skinned,  velvety-eyed  peasants,  whose  day's  work 
had  doubtless  begun  at  cock-crow.  A  final  bend 
in  the  path  revealed  the  outer  town  gate,  the  ways 
dividing  just  inside  it,  one  leading  through  a  sec- 
ond archway  to  the  narrow,  abrupt  ascent  to  the 
chateau  and  the  fine  old  thirteenth  century  church 
that  originally  stood  within  the  chateau's  outer 
walls;  the  second  turning  sharply  to  the  left  and 
up  into  the  heart  of  the  mediaeval  town  with  its 
magnificent  monolith  fourteenth  century  fountain, 
and  its  characteristic  Place.  The  town,  with  its 
quaint  cobbled  streets,  is  steeped  in  its  feudal- 
istic  atmosphere,  untouched  by  modernity,  as  were 
the  people  who  gathered  in  the  little  street  to  ex- 
plain in  their  harsh  patois  that  Marie — the  cus- 
todian of  the  chateau's  keys — had  gone  out  into 
the  fields  to  gather  mushrooms.  These  people  are 


NcljclC. 

Street,  Chateau. 


131 


132  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

of  the  swarthy,  southern  type,  Spanish  almost, 
hinting  of  the  days  of  Roland,  when  Spaniard 
and  Saracen  swept  across  the  Pyrenees  to  leave 
their  impress  not  only  upon  the  architecture,  but 
upon  the  race.  There  were  the  old  women  with 
their  knitting,  one  tending  her  geese ;  the  man,  pic- 
turesque in  his  loose  corduroys  and  red  sash,  a 
blue  beret  on  the  back  of  his  head,  standing  in 
his  doorway,  peeling  an  onion;  the  old  man  with 
long  hair  and  clad  in  homespun,  pausing  to  give 
matrimonial  advice  to  a  pretty  girl  on  the  edge  of 
the  crowd;  while  the  tragic,  sad-eyed  hunchback, 
calling  up  the  figure  of  the  count's  jester,  seemed 
so  especially  to  reflect  the  picturesque  mediseval- 
ism  of  the  grey-walled  town.  All  talking  at  once, 
they  berated  Marie  for  not  being  on  hand  to  at- 
tend to  her  duties  as  custodian.  But,  "with 
Marie  it  was  always  so,"  they  said.  At  last  a  boy 
whom  the  jingle  of  a  few  coppers  had  beguiled 
into  seeking  for  her,  returned  triumphant,  Marie, 
a  great  basket  of  mushrooms  on  her  arm,  trudging 
along  in  his  wake. 

There  seems  little  recorded  history  connected 
with  the  chateau,  save  that  it  was  built  by  Ber- 
trand  of  Toulouse  in  1 105,  modified  by  Alphonse 
of  Poitiers  in  the  thirteenth  .century,  and  finally 
destroyed  by  Louis  XIII.  The  distinctive  fea- 


r  / 


from  Tour  Visigbth, 

La  Cite/  Carcassonne 


133 


134  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

ture  of  the  chateau  is  its  round  donjon,  one  hun- 
dred feet  in  height,  and  with  walls  of  such  thick- 
ness as  to  admit  of  a  stairway  and  corridors. 
These  corridors  connected  the  donjon  with  the 
five  other  stalwart  towers  flanking  the  great  rec- 
tangular court,  which  was  in  turn  guarded  by  an 
outer  enclosure  of  walls  and  towers.  Close  beside 
the  keep,  and  guarded  by  a  low  tower,  is  the  cas- 
tle wall,  while  on  one  floor  of  the  keep — that 
stern  old  relic  of  feudal  days — one  finds  the  re- 
mains of  a  chapel  marked  by  bits  of  carving,  the 
one  note  of  beauty  within  those  frowning  walls. 
From  the  top  of  this  giant  tower,  a  bell  still  tolls 
the  curfew  and  the  angelus.  Thus  to-day  the  cha- 
teau dominates  and  regulates  the  daily  life  of  the 
little  town. 

Standing  on  the  battlements  of  this  hoary  old 
tower,  with  its  wonderful  sweep  of  wooden  hills, 
of  quiet  valleys  and  of  purling  streams,  one  seems 
to  see  into  the  historied  past  of  that  southern  land 
lying  beyond  the  Montagnes  Noires.  The  his- 
tory of  Najac  is  inevitably  interwoven  with  that 
of  those  proud  Tolosan  counts  to  whom  she  owes 
her  birth,  and  whose  deeds  of  valour  reached  even 
to  the  East,  where  Bertrand,  her  founder  and  a 
crusader,  died  fighting  for  the  Cross. 

Thus  at  Najac,  peering  through  the  gateway  of 


NAJAC,  CARCASSONNE,  LASTOURS     135 

Languedoc,  we  penetrate  to  its  very  heart — Car- 
cassonne— the  city  of  dreams,  the  fairy  city  stand- 
ing upon  a  hill  in  silent  grandeur,  the  power  and 
glory  of  its  past  summed  and  gathered  up  within 
its  walls — walls  basking  now  in  the  soft,  shim- 
mering sunshine  of  midsummer,  dreaming,  per- 


Porte  Nar&onnaise, 
Carcassonne. 


chance,  of  those  far-oft  days  when  Romans,  Franks 
and  Visigoths  struggled  for  supremacy.  Stronger 
still  is  the  deepened  note  of  the  South  touched  out 
everywhere,  in  oleanders,  pomegranates,  figs  and 
flowers,  in  people,  in  customs,  in  the  high-peaked 
horse-collars,  the  panniered  donkeys,  the  oxen,  the 
vineyards. 

This  great  forest  of  towers  rising  up  in  the  val- 


136  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

ley  of  the  Aude,  holds  not  only  the  key  to  the 
passes  of  the  Pyrenees,  whose  snow-capped  peaks 
lie  to  the  south,  but  guards  also  the  roads  to  the 
sea,  to  Narbonne,  to  Toulouse,  and  to  those  roads 
stretching  northward  to  lose  themselves  in  the 
deep-cut  valleys  of  the  Montagnes  Noires. 

Carcassonne  marks  three  distinctive  epochs  in  its 
history,  epochs  recorded  in  its  massive  masonry 
as  well  as  in  its  archives.  The  Roman  period, 
when  it  was  called  a  "noble  city,"  lasted  from 
about  70  B.  C.  to  the  early  part  of  the  fifth  cen- 
tury, when  the  Empire  disintegrated.  The  second 
period  began  with  the  coming  of  the  victorious 
Visigoths,  their  domination  extending  from  the 
fifth  to  the  eighth  century.  It  was  during  this 
period  that  Carcassonne  was  made  impregnable; 
for  the  Visigoths  of  all  the  barbarians  adopted 
most  quickly  and  effectively  the  art  of  the  Roman 
builders.  From  the  eighth  century,  when  the 
Moors  of  Spain  broke  the  power  of  the  Visigoths, 
to  the  twelfth  century,  little  is  known  of  Carcas- 
sonne. At  the  beginning  of  the  twelfth  century, 
however,  Simon  de  Montfort  with  inquisitorial 
zeal  perpetrated  his  cruelties  in  his  efforts  to  crush 
the  Albigensians.  This  led  to  the  overthrow  of 
the  Trincavel  counts,  then  in  power,  and  to  the 
subsequent  ushering  in  of  the  third  and  most  bril- 


NAJAC,  CARCASSONNE,  LASTOURS     137 

liant  period,  when  Carcassonne's  history  became 
united  with  that  of  France  under  Louis  VIII. 
Louis  IX.,  Saint  Louis,  and  his  son  Philip  le 
Hardi,  not  only  strengthened  the  work  of  the  Ro- 
mans and  of  the  Visigoths,  but  built  the  outer 
walls  and  towers;  and  for  further  protection, 
Louis  IX.  refused  permission  to  the  inhabitants  of 
the  faubourgs  to  rebuild  on  that  side  of  the  river. 
This  led  to  the  founding  of  the  Lower  Town, 
which  is  still  spoken  of  as  the  new  town,  despite 
its  medieval  birth.  A  note  of  beauty  also  marks 
the  work  of  this  period,  as  evidenced  in  the  carved 
keystones  and  corbels  in  some  of  the  towers,  and 
in  the  battlemented  cathedral  church  of  Saint  Na- 
zaire,  where  most  truly  beauty  and  strength  have 
met  together.  In  this  old  church,  standing  just 
inside  the  walls  of  the  Cite,  one  finds  a  thirteenth 
century  bas-relief  depicting  the  siege  of  Toulouse 
under  the  same  dread  Simon  de  Montfort  of  Al- 
begensian  renown.  When  in  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury, all  of  Languedoc  had  surrendered  to  Edward 
the  Black  Prince,  Carcassonne  alone  remained  im- 
pregnable, proudly  flaunting  the  lilies  of  France 
from  its  turrets,  defiant  of  English  domination. 

Across  the  valley  of  the  Aude,  some  ten  miles 
from  Carcassonne,  in  the  valley  of  Cabardes,  and 
encircled  by  the  Montagnes  Noires,  four  chateaux 


138  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

guard  the  road — the  old  Roman  road — leading 
from  Carcassonne  to  Mazumet.  Perched  upon 
four  craggy  peaks,  these  four  chateaux — Cabaret, 
Tour  Regine,  Fleur-Espine  and  Quertinheux — 
command  from  their  eminence  on  the  hill  three 
ravines,  Bellanet,  Gresillon  and  Orbiel.  These 
hoary  sentinels,  "defendants  of  the  valley  of 
Cabardes,"  so  silent  and  so  isolated,  add  to  the 
picturesqueness,  the  wild,  fantastic  beauty  of  the 
place,  steeping  it  in  the  romance  of  those  far-off 
days  when  the  Visigoth  ruled  the  land,  days  when 
marauding  knights,  perchance,  swooped  like  eagles 
from  those  heights  to  prey  upon  some  unsuspecting 
foe. 

The  history  of  Lastours,  like  the  history  of  Na- 
jac,  is  veiled  in  obscurity,  save  that  the  chateaux 
date  back  to  the  sixth  century,  and  that  their 
"legal  existence"  only  came  to  an  end  in  1789. 
As  an  outpost  of  Carcassonne,  they  were  strategi- 
cally of  great  importance,  proving  themselves  im- 
pregnable in  two  specific  instances  at  least,  in  their 
stubborn  resistance  of  the  two  attacks  of  Simon 
de  Montfort.  The  last  siege  was  raised  only  after 
favourable  and  honourable  terms  were  accorded  to 
the  chatelain.  A  night  and  day  guard  of  fifty 
men,  together  with  their  maintenance,  were  en- 
trusted to  the  inhabitants  of  Lastours  and  of  the 


NAJAC,  CARCASSONNE,  LASTOURS     139 

neighbouring  villages,  who  in  return  were  exempt 
from  going  to  war.  As  late  as  1 768,  cannon  were 
placed  upon  the  ramparts — the  last  expression  of 
their  outworn  strength.  Within  the  walls  of  the 
Quertinheux  stands  the  tiny  chapel  of  Saint  Cath- 
erine, and  as  late  as  the  eighteenth  century  a 
yearly  service  was  .  f 

held  there  on  the  thir- 
tieth of  May.  Even  in 
its  crumbling  incom- 
pleteness, the  chapel  is 
a  gem  of  Gothic  art, 
its  origin  due,  doubt- 
less, to  the  unquiet 
conscience  of  one  of 
the  lords  of  Cabaret. 
Thus  again,  in  the 
midst  of  stern  reality,  •» 

we  catch  the  thirteenth  century  note  of  beauty 
expressing  itself  in  carven  capital  and  vaulted 
arch. 

The  village  of  Lastours  scrambling  pictures- 
quely up  the  abrupt  sides  of  the  hill  across  the 
valley  from  the  chateaux  is  none  the  less  domi- 
nated by  them,  as  may  be  seen  if  one  follows  the 
path  back  of  the  town  to  the  summit  where  one 
gets  a  magnificent  panoramic  view  of  those  four 


140  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

gaunt  towers,  the  barren  hills,  the  deep-set  val- 
leys, the  rugged  grandeur  of  the  distant  moun- 
tains. Southern  exuberance  is  here,  as  at  Car- 
cassonne. The  hillsides,  rudely  terraced,  are  sil- 
ver-green with  olive  trees,  the  soft,  shimmering 
tone  colour  offset  now  and  again,  by  the  stately 
form  of  a  cedar  of  Lebanon  rising  dark-limbed 
against  the  deep  blue  southern  sky.  Dark  bits  of 
rock  festooned  with  wild  clematis,  jut  out  here 
and  there,  while  purple  heather,  broom,  wild 
roses  and  flowers  of  brilliant  hue  carpet  the  steep 
slopes  in  oriental  splendour.  And,  as  if  in  protest 
to  this  southern  luxuriance,  one  finds  clambering 
up  one  side  of  the  valley  a  young  forest  of  sturdy 
oaks,  chestnuts,  and  firs,  reminders  of  those  north- 
ern invaders  the  Franks,  who,  in  the  old  days, 
battled  for  the  supremacy  of  this  southern  land. 

Great  clouds  sweep  silently  across  the  summer 
sky,  resting  upon  hill  and  grim  castle  walls  and 
towers.  The  dreamy  stillness  deepens  as  the 
shadows  lengthen.  No  longer  the  clash  of  arms 
or  shout  of  battle  cry  echoes  in  that  valley  of  Cab- 
ardes  set  about  by  hills.  Only  deep  peace,  the 
deep  peace  of  the  hills,  broods  upon  its  heights, 
symbolised  by  the  dove  hovering  in  the  sunset 
glow  about  the  gaunt  old  tower  of  Cabaret. 

Thus,   looking   through   this   gateway   to   the 


NAJAC,  CARCASSONNE,  LASTOURS     141 

South — Languedoc — whether  at  Najac,  at  Car- 
cassonne or  at  Lastours,  we  catch  something  at 
least  of  the  beauty,  the  exotic  redolence  and  lux- 
uriance belonging  so  essentially  to  Provence  and 
to  the  mystic  East. 


VI 

THREE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  PROVENCE 
I.    ARLES 

AS  Languedoc  is  the  gateway  to  the  South,  so 
Provence  is  the  South,  the  South  of  the 
Orient,  its  Eastern  heritage  revealed  in  all  the 
rich  luxuriance,  the  mystic  beauty,  the  ancient 
splendour  and  magnificence  in  which  this  land  of 
Provence  is  steeped,  a  land  stamped  indelibly 
both  in  its  architecture  and  in  its  race  with  the 
marks  of  its  ancient  conquerors — Greek,  Roman, 
Goth  and  Frank.  It  is  a  land  redolent  of  flowers, 
a  land  of  sunshine  and  of  laughter,  a  land  of  music 
where  one  can  still  catch  the  minor  strain  of  the 
trouvere's  song  and  the  plaint  of  the  pan-pipes 
mingling  with  the  far-off  chant  of  the  sea.  It  is 
a  land  where  austere  pagan  beauty  and  mediaeval 
luxuriance  jostle  each  other,  marking  the  ebb  and 
flow  of  the  tides  that  have  swept  across  this  fair 
land  of  the  troubadour,  tides  that  have  left  their 
impress  upon  the  faces  and  features  of  the  people 
143 


144  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

as  well  as  upon  the  half-mined  monuments  of 
each  successive  epoch — those  monuments  that 
speak  so  eloquently  of  its  history. 

Aries,  the  ancient  capital,  is  distinctive,  not  as 
one  locality  is  distinctive  from  another,  but  dis- 
tinctive as  Provence  is  from  the  rest  of  France; 
a  nation  set  apart,  belonging  to  France,  yet  not 
of  it.  It  belongs  essentially  to  the  two  races  from 
which  it  sprang.  Greek  it  is  in  spirit,  Greek  in 
race;  Roman  in  temper  and  in  architecture. 
Founded  2000  B.  C.,  Aries  was  known  as  Ar-lait, 
near  the  waters,  because  of  its  proximity  to  the 
Rhone.  Even  in  those  early  days  it  was  a  port 
of  importance,  an  importance  that  to  some  extent 
it  holds  to-day.  But  before  it  was  colonised  by 
Marius  and  became  the  rival  of  Marseilles,  this 
Gallic  Rome  was  known  to  the  Massilians  and 
was  called  by  them  Thelme;  and  it  is  this  Greek 
and  Roman  aspect  that  prevails  to-day.  Aries 
pervades  one  with  a  sense  of  its  imperial  past. 
Its  grey  massiveness  has  a  lofty  beauty,  a  pagan 
sternness  that  dominate  the  remnants  of  its  me- 
dieval life. 

The  history  of  Aries  may  be  divided  into  five 
periods — Greek  Aries,  Roman  Aries,  Early  Chris- 
tian Aries,  Mediaeval  Aries  and  Aries  of  to-day,  the 
Aries  of  Mistral  and  his  confreres  of  the  Felibres ; 


ARLES  145 

and  of  each  of  these  five  periods  one  can  still  find 
traces.  Of  Greek  Aries,  there  remains  that  glor- 
ious monument,  the  Greek  theatre  of  which  the 
banks  of  seats,  the  dressing-rooms  and  two  beauti- 
ful marble  columns  are  still  standing.  During 
the  last  few  years  there  has  been  a  revival  of 


•GBCEI 

Greek  Theatre 
Aries/ 

Greek  drama  by  the  Comedie  Franchise,  and  here 
once  more  the  stately  lines  of  the  (Edipus  can  be 
heard.  Built  in  the  last  century  B.  C.  during 
Roman  occupation,  the  theatre  is  yet  distinctly 
Greek  work,  and  in  1651,  among  the  crumbling 
ruins,  was  discovered  the  Venus  of  Aries,  that 
triumph  of  Greek  art. 

Of  Roman  Aries,  perhaps  the  most  distinctive 


146  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

monument  is  the  great  amphitheatre,  built  in  the 
first  century  A.  D.  It  is  characteristic  of  the  Ro- 
mans as  the  theatre  with  its  more  esthetic  and  in- 
tellectual appeal  is  characteristic  of  the  Greeks. 
Here  in  the  early  days  Christians  fought  with  wild 
beasts,  and  gladiators  fought  each  other  to  the 
death  to  gratify  the  populi.  Here  to-day  de- 


Roman  Amphitheatre 
\Arlea.j 

scendants  of  that  same  crowd  urge  matador,  tor- 
reador  and  picador  to  more  and  more  daring  deeds 
of  prowess.  One  feels  this  very  strongly  if  one 
attends  a  "Courses  Provengales"  in  the  old  arena, 
the  stone  parapet  hung  with  gaily-coloured  flags 
as  for  a  festa.  Strolling  through  the  narrow, 
winding  streets,  one  comes  suddenly  upon  the  old 
arena,  its  three  hoary  towers — the  mark  mediev- 
alism put  upon  this  work  of  the  Roman  build- 
ers— rising,  gaunt  and  grim,  against  the  blue 


ARLES  147 

southern  sky,  flinging  defiance  at  modernity.  In 
sight  of  the  arena  one  becomes  imbued  with  a 
sense  of  a  pagan  world,  of  Rome  in  all  its  pride 
and  cruel  strength.  From  the  church  of  Saint 
Trophimus  to  the  arena  is  but  a  stone's  throw; 
yet  in  that  short  space  we  step  from  the  mediaeval 
into  that  pagan  age  which  even  to-day  dominates 
Provence.  One  sees  it  in  the  crowd  gathered  at 
the  entrance  way  to  watch  the  bulls  driven  across 
the  arena  to  their  pens  beneath  the  stadium.  One 
is  overwhelmed  by  it  during  the  "Course,"  when 
the  superb  matador,  "Chef  de  Quadrille,"  Pouly- 
fils  and  his  young  son,  arouse  the  audience  to  wild 
enthusiasm,  as  with  easy  grace  they  meet  the 
charges  of  the  angry  bull.  The  "Courses  Pro- 
vengales"  differ  from  the  regular  bull-fight  in  that 
the  bull  is  not  killed,  but  only  teased  and  played 
with  for  about  twenty  minutes,  and  that  no 
horses  are  in  the  ring  to  be  gored  to  death.  Still 
one  gets  the  effect  as  the  bull  trots  into  the  ring 
tossing  its  head,  then  pausing  suddenly,  stands 
with  head  upraised,  defiant,  maddened  by  the 
music,  the  roar  of  the  crowd,  the  blinding  sun- 
light after  the  darkness.  Attracted  by  the  mata- 
dor's red  cloak,  the  bull  lunges  forward,  head 
down,  tail  high,  to  be  met  with  the  prick  of  the 


148  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

barbed  banderillas  which  the  banderillero  deftly 
sticks  into  his  shoulders.  The  "Courses  Libres" 
followed  the  "Courses  ProvenQales,"  and  proved 
to  be  a  free-for-all  performance  for  a  purse,  in 
which  any  one  might  enter  at  his  own  risk.  The 
object  was  to  remove  a  rosette  from  the  bull's 
forehead  while  he  was  in  the  act  of  charging,  an 
entertainment  that  was  very  diverting,  the  crowd 
reaching  a  high  pitch  of  excitement  when  one  man 
pursued  by  the  bull  had  his  leg  pinned  to  the 
fence  as  he  was  in  the  act  of  vaulting  it. 

Aries  became  great  under  imperial  patronage, 
and  during  the  reign  of  Constantine  Christianity 
became  the  accepted  religion,  Constantine  being 
the  first  Christian  emperor.  Thus  the  palace 
of  Constantine,  Bysantine  in  its  architecture, 
and  built  in  the  fourth  century  A.  D.,  belongs 
not  only  to  the  Roman  period,  but  also  to 
the  early  Christian.  Here  Constantine  and  the 
empress  Fausta,  his  wife,  lived,  and  here  their 
eldest  son  was  born.  What  Lyons  was  to  Clau- 
dius and  the  earlier  emperors,  Aries  was  to  Con- 
stantine; and  for  several  centuries  Aries  was  the 
centre  of  Christendom.  Nineteen  church  councils 
were  held  here,  the  most  famous  being  the 
Council  of  Aries  in  314.  In  the  fourth  century 


ARLES  149 

the  Bishop  of  Aries  was  the  metropolitan  of  all 
Gallic  Narbonensis,  a  power  that  in  the  fifth  cen- 
tury brought  about  the  dispute  between  Bishop 
Hilary  of  Aries  and  Leo  the  Great,  the  then 
Bishop  of  Rome.  The  Aliscamps  also  links  the 
Roman  and  early  Christian  periods;  and,  re- 
nowned both  as  the  Roman  and  early  Christian 
place  of  burial,  it  was  immortalised  by  Dante  in 
the  Canto  IX  of  the  Inferno. 

"And  I 

Soon  as  I  was  within,  cast  round  my  eye, 

And  see  on  every  hand  an  ample  plain, 

Full  of  distress  and  torments  terrible, 

Even  as  at  Aries  where  stagnant  grows  the  Rhone. 

The  sepulchres  make  all  the  place  uneven, 

So  likewise  did  they  there  on  every  side." 

Looking  down  the  long  avenue  of  stately 
cypresses,  one  sees  ranged  between  them  the  an- 
cient covered  Roman  sarcophagi,  with  now  and 
again  a  Merovingian  tomb.  Standing  beneath 
the  beautiful  arch  of  Saint  Cesaire,  one  sees  at  the 
far  end  the  chapel  of  Saint  Honorat,  its  dedica- 
tion bringing  to  mind  that  famous  apostle  of  the 
lies  de  Lerins,  who  late  in  life  became  Bishop  of 
Aries.  Aries  owes  its  conversion  to  Christianity 
to  Saint  Trophimus,  a  disciple  of  Saint  Paul,  who 


150  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

came  to  Gaul  in  the  third  century.  It  was  after 
his  death  and  burial  in  these  sacred  precincts  that 
the  Aliscamps  became  so  holy  a  place  of  pilgrim- 
age. From  the  twelfth  to  the  sixteenth  century  so 
famous  did  the  shrine  become  that  bodies  were 
placed  in  rude  caskets  and  set  afloat  on  the  swift- 


West  Door, 
Sciint-Trophime 


flowing  Rhone,  trusting  that  they  might  drift 
ashore  and  find  a  final  resting-place  in  the  Alis- 
camps. In  the  sixteenth  century,  after  the  re- 
moval of  Saint  Trophimus'  body  to  the  church 
built  in  his  honour,  the  spoliation  of  the  Aliscamps 
began,  many  of  the  tombs  being  carried  off  by  the 
Marquis  de  Saint-Chamond,  a  brother  of  Cardinal 
.Richelieu. 


ARLES  151 

The  church  of  Saint  Trophimus,  built  on  the 
foundations  of  the  Roman  Prsetorium  and  called 
the  "perfect  flower  of  Provencal  Romanesque," 
marks  the  beginning  of  mediaeval  Aries,  which, 
under  the  Merovingians,  became  the  capital  of 
Provence.  Later,  under  Boson,  it  became  first  the 


,  Aries. 


capital  of  the  kingdom  of  Burgundy,  and  in  933, 
under  Rudolph  Welf,  King  of  Burgundy,  capital 
of  the  Burgundians,  under  the  title  of  the  King- 
dom of  Aries.  In  the  twelfth  century  Aries  be- 
came a  republic ;  in  the  thirteenth,  it  submitted  to 
Charles  of  Anjou,  Count  of  Provence,  and  after- 
wards was  annexed  to  France  in  1482.  The 


152  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

twelfth  century  portal  of  the  church,  deep-set  and 
richly  carved,  is  very  fine.  It  is  supported  by  six 
beautiful  columns,  between  which  are  figures  of 
saints  and  scriptural  subjects.  The  figure  of  the 


Statue  of  Samt-Trophime 

Christ  in  the  centre  is  markedly  Byzantine  in 
character. 

The  cloisters  are  unique  and  among  the  most 
beautiful  in  France.  In  them  we  get  a  mingling 
of  Greek,  Roman  and  Byzantine  art;  of  Roman- 
esque and  Gothic  also.  The  figures  and  elaborate 


ARLES  153 

designs  so  finely  chiselled  are  as  perfect  as  if  fresh 
from  the  sculptor's  hands.  The  carving  is 
stamped  with  the  rich  imagination  of  the  artists 
who  have  wrought  so  wonderfully  these  living" 


Cloisters,  St  Trophime 

Chapiteau    du  Xllcsiec!e 

pictures  in  stone,  a  rich  medley  of  legend  and  the 
fantastic,  of  the  mythological,  the  apocryphal,  the 
scriptural,  woven  with  the  lavish  beauty  of  the 
luxuriant  East  into  a  harmonious  whole.  And 
here  in  the  brooding  stillness  pervading  these  ex- 
quisitely carved  cloisters  we  find  expressed  all  the 


154  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

beauty,  all  the  poetry,  all  the  music  that  is  indeed 
the  very  soul  of  Provence,  the  Provence  that, 
echoing  still  of  Greece,  of  pagan  Rome,  finds  ex- 
pression to-day  in  Mistral  and  his  confreres  of  the 
Felibres. 


II.    MONTMAJOUR  AND  LES  BAUX 

THE  names  of  the  great  abbey  of  Montma- 
jour  and  of  Les  Baux  are  linked  both  archi- 
tecturally and  historically  with  Aries,  as,  indeed, 
all  three  were  governed  by  the  powerful  seigneurs 
of  Les  Baux.  Even  as  late  as  the  Middle  Ages, 
Montmajour  was  an  island,  and  to  it  in  the  third 
century,  so  legend  relates,  came  Saint  Trophemus, 
and  thither  also  flocked  his  native  converts.  Here 
in  the  tenth  century  Benedictine  monks  founded 
their  abbey  upon  the  shrine  of  the  good  saint,  the 
land  being  a  donation  of  the  seigneurs  of  Les 
Baux.  Even  in  its  ruined  incompleteness,  Mont- 
majour remains,  according  to  a  French  writer  of 
note,  "at  once  the  most  imposing  ruins,  the  most 
ancient  and  the  most  powerful  of  France." 

The  enormous  empty  church  with  its  wonderful 
hexagonal  crypt  supported  by  great  pillars,  is 
most  impressive;  while  in  the  unearthly  green 
light  filtering  in  through  the  tinted  windows,  one 
can  in  imagination  see  cowled  figures  flitting  to 
and  fro  among  the  stalwart  pillars.  The  thir- 
teenth century  cloisters  are  less  ornate  than  those 
155 


156  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

of  Saint  Trophemus  at  Aries,  and  flooded  with  the 
golden  radiance  of  the  southern  sun,  possess  a 
beauty  almost  Greek,  a  chaste  loveliness  that  is 
all  their  own.  The  main  building  dates  back 
only  to  the  stiff  architecture  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  and  its  ruins  do  not  lend  themselves  to 


Montmajour:  The  Abbey  Ruins. 

picturesqueness.  The  holy  of  holies  at  Montma- 
jour is  the  confessional  of  Saint  Trophemus,  a 
tiny  chapel  hewn  out  of  the  rock,  its  only  ap- 
proach, a  series  of  terraced  steps  bordered  by  flow- 
ers blooming  in  wild  profusion,  steeping  the  air 
with  their  subtle  fragrance.  This  spot,  like  the 
Aliscamps  at  Aries,  was  a  pilgrims'  shrine  for 
centuries.  Just  beyond  the  giant  fortress  tower 
built  as  a  defence  by  the  Counts  of  Montma- 


MONTMAJOUR  AND  LES  BAUX  157 

jour,  and  just  outside  the  monastic  enclosure, 
stands  the  miniature  chapel  of  Saint  Croix,  a 
seeming  survival  of  the  Roman  period.  In  per- 
fect preservation,  it  is  classic  in  its  architecture 
even  to  the  essentially  Roman  mode  of  dome 
lighting;  but  its  history,  or  the  reason  for  its 
being,  is  shrouded  in  mystery.  As  yet  no  one  has 
been  able  to  discover  whether  it  was  built  for  a 
mortuary  chapel,  a  baptistry  or  a  mausoleum.  If 
it  is  of  Roman  origin,  doubtless  it  served  as  a 
mausoleum,  and,  perchance,  was  the  last  resting 
place  of  some  Roman  warrior. 

From  Montmajour  to  Les  Baux,  the  road  winds 
through  a  rugged  country,  its  hillsides  covered 
with  scraggy  olive  trees,  its  grey  fields  and  pas- 
ture lands  splashed  with  purple  heather.  To  the 
north  stretch  the  deep,  blue  hills  of  the  Alpilles, 
where,  perched  upon  an  isolated  crag,  Les  Baux 
clings  like  an  eagle's  nest  to  the  lofty,  ragged 
cliff,  dominating  the  Val  d'Enfer  which  Mistral 
claims  inspired  Dante's  architectural  descriptions 
in  his  Inferno.  At  Fontveille,  a  quaint  little  vil- 
lage, one  passes  the  old  mill  made  famous  by 
Daudet  in  his  "Letters  from  My  Mill." 

The  beginnings  of  Les  Baux  go  back  to  the 
times  of  the  Troglotytes,  who  set  the  fashion  of 
hewing  their  houses  out  of  the  rock,  a  notable 


158  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

feature  both  in  the  town  and  in  the  chateau 
crowning  the  heights.  Like  Aries,  Les  Baux  is 
built  upon  Roman  foundations,  the  site  of  Les 
Baux  being  the  camp  of  the  Roman  Marius;  but 
unlike  Aries,  it  is  the  mediaeval  past  rather  than 
the  Roman  that  dominates  this  hill-town  of  Pro- 
vence. Les  Baux  reminds  one  of  a  rich  tapestry 
crowded  with  all  the  splendour  and  magnificence 
of  mediaeval  pageantry,  those  days  of  Rene  the 
troubadour,  poet,  king.  Its  name  harks  back  to 
the  days  of  the  Visigoths,  those  grim  conquerors 
from  the  East,  the  ancient  House  of  Baux,  none 
other  than  the  descendants  of  the  Baltes,  of  royal 
blood  among  the  Visigoths,  and  the  most  ancient 
family  of  Provence. 

In  the  twelfth  century,  the  seigneurs  of  Les 
Baux,  who  styled  themselves  Kings  of  Aries  and 
Counts  of  Provence,  began  to  play  a  powerful 
part  in  Provencal  history.  Their  power  extended 
to  Sardinia  and  the  far-away  kingdom  of  Naples, 
and  many  of  them  taking  part  in  the  Crusades, 
they  finally  even  claimed  the  title  of  Emperors  of 
Constantinople.  When  Les  Baux  came  under  the 
domination  of  Charles  of  Anjou  in  the  thirteenth 
century,  a  golden  era  dawned,  an  era  that  re- 
flected not  only  great  deeds  of  arms,  and  the  ag- 
grandisement of  power,  but  all  the  brillance  and 


MONTMAJOUR  AND  LES  BAUX  159 

luxuriance,  the  wit  and  culture,  the  chivalry  and 
gallantry  that  made  Les  Baux  the  international 
gathering  place  of  troubadours,  of  kings,  of  fair 
ladies  and  great  princes.  Here  the  culture  of 
Europe  flocked  to  the  famous  "Cours  d' Amour" 
of  King  Rene  and  his  beautiful  Queen  Jeanne  of 
Laval,  the  same  Jeanne  whose  pavilion  still 
stands  amid  the  desolate  waste  of  her  once  flower- 
scented  garden;  and  here  the  gallant  band  of 
troubadours  sang  of  the  beauty  of  the  princesses 
and  the  valour  of  the  chevaliers.  The  most  fa- 
mous of  these  troubadours  were  Guilhem  de  Ca- 
bestan,  Sordel,  Pierre  d'Auvergne,  Roger  d' Aries, 
and  King  Rene.  Their  verse  dedicated  to  those 
Queens  of  Beauty,  Cecile  des  Baux,  called  Passe 
Rose,  Alix  and  Clairette  des  Baux,  Jeanne  de 
Laval  and  many  others  who  graced  that  kingly 
court.  Those  "Cours  d' Amour"  were  always  pre- 
sided over  by  a  woman,  and  it  was  a  woman  who 
decided  the  contest,  and  who,  with  a  "kiss  of 
felicitation,"  set  upon  the  victor's  brow  a  crown 
of  peacock's  plumes. 

To  know  that  the  peasants  of  Les  Baux, — 
sturdy  descendants  of  the  Visigoths, — believe 
still  in  fairies,  one  has  but  to  hear  from  their  lips 
the  legends  that  have  come  down  to  them  through 
the  centuries.  The  most  ancient  of  these  is  one 


160  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

they  will  tell  you  as  you  staftd  in  the  "Grottes 
des  Fees,"  the  tale  of  three  sorcerers  who  held 
captive  beneath  the  grotto  a  golden  goat.  To 
the  one  courageous  and  happy  enough  to  rescue 
him,  this  goat  will  bring  good  fortune  and  un- 
ending prosperity.  Another  legend  tradition  has 
handed  down,  is  that  of  a  silver  bell  that  for  cen- 
turies has  rested  in  the  bottom  of  an  old  well  of 
Les  Baux,  where  it  was  hidden  during  a  siege  to 
save  it  from  being  pillaged. 

The  death  of  the  beautiful  Alix  des  Baux,  the 
last  of  that  heroic  race  of  the  Bakes,  inspired  the 
poetic  imagination  of  a  poet  of  those  days.  At 
the  moment  of  her  death,  so  the  poem  tells  us,  a 
great  star  flared  across  the  sky,  and  descending  by 
the  old  tower  of  Baux,  entered  the  chamber  where 
the  princess  lay  dying.  There  it  burned  with  an 
untold  radiance  until,  as  the  princess  breathed  her 
last,  it  went  out  suddenly.  This  story  calls  to 
mind  the  finding  by  Mistral  a  few  years  ago  in 
an  ancient  tomb  in  the  church  of  Saint  Vincent, 
the  beautiful  golden  locks  of  one  of  the  princesses 
of  Les  Baux,  a  princess  of  great  beauty  and  charm, 
sung  of  by  the  troubadours,  who  died  before  she 
had  grown  to  womanhood. 

The  latter  history  of  Les  Baux  is  linked  with 
that  of  France,  for  in  1482  Provence  and  Les 


MONTMAJOUR  AND  LES  BAUX  16! 

Baux  passed  under  the  domination  of  Louis  XL 
of  France.  Its  decline  and  complete  destruction 
followed  is  1633  when  Louis  XIII.,  acting  upon 
the  advice  of  Cardinal  Richelieu,  called  this  an- 
cient stronghold  of  feudal  independence  to  ac- 
count; and  the  walls  of  the  chateau,  impregnable 
for  seven  centuries,  were  demolished.  To-day  the 
town  is  a  deserted  city  of  only  one  hundred  and 
twenty  inhabitants,  its  streets  lined  with  rows  of 
staring,  roofless  houses,  some  primitive,  hewn  out 
of  the  rock,  some,  even  in  their  decay,  revealing 
the  beauty  belonging  to  that  period  of  Renais- 
sance when  the  names  of  Porcelet  and  Manville 
were  still  a  power.  The  left  wall  of  the  church 
of  Saint  Martial  is  rough-hewn  out  of  the  primi- 
tive rock,  while  the  other  two  aisles  are  Roman- 
esque and  Gothic  respectively.  The  church  is 
massive,  sombre,  impressive,  in  keeping  with  its 
fantastic  surroundings.  In  the  chapel  wall  at 
the  left  of  the  choir  is  a  beautiful  tomb  of  a  by- 
gone Lady  de  Manville.  The  present  Prince  de 
Manville-Bianchi  lives  in  his  chateau  near  Les 
Baux,  and  is  a  liberal  patron.  Claude  II.  de 
Manville  became  a  Huguenot,  and  by  right  of  feu- 
dal jurisdiction  over  his  lands,  he  was  able  to 
give  protection  to  Huguenot  refugees.  Carved 
over  the  fine  fifteenth  century  portal  of  the  Hu- 


162  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

guenot  church  one  can  still  see  the  famous  device 
of  the  Geneva  Reformers, — POST  TENEBRAS  Lux. 
Surely  as  Robiba  has  said,  the  princes  of  Les 
Baux  took  this  mountain  of  Les  Baux,  cut  it, 
fashioned  it,  hollowed  it,  until  there  rose  upon 
those  craggy  heights  a  wonderful  citadel,  half 
cave,  half  palace,  the  most  fantastic  creation  of 
architecture  in  the  world,  the  most  superb  ruins 
of  that  great  Middle  Age,  expressive  too,  of  that 
strange  mingling  of  barbaric  splendour  and  culture 
which  reached  its  zenith  at  this  chateau  of  King 
Rene  in  this  golden  land  of  Provence.  Mountain 
and  fortress,  cliff,  towers  and  chateau  form  one 
giant  framework,  the  summit  crowned  by  the 
donjon,  part  rock,  part  masonry,  from  whence 
one  gets  a  superb  panoramic  view  of  the  sur- 
rounding country.  To  the  southeast  stretches 
the  vast  plain  of  la  Cran,  green,  cultivated, 
dotted  here  and  there  with  farms  and  villages; 
while  far-off  along  the  horizon  line  winds 
the  Rhone,  bordered  by  solemn  ranks  of  cy- 
presses. West  from  the  banks  of  that  mighty 
river  lies  the  Camargue  whose  silvery  sands  are 
shifting  ever  under  the  sullen,  changing  flood  of 
the  Rhone  Mort, — a  deep  undercurrent  of  life, 
mysterious,  ceaseless, — the  dead  yet  living  past 
the  dominant  influence  still  in  this  land  of  myths, 


MONTMAJOUR  AND  LES  BAUX  163 

of  pagan  beauty,  of  Eastern  luxuriance.  Here 
upon  the  desolate  wastes  of  the  Camargue  roam 
wild  bulls,  and  the  white  ponies  roving  in  herds 
are  lineal  descendants  of  the  Saracen  war  horses 
left  ranging  here  by  their  Saracen  masters  when 
in  the  eight  century  they  fled  before  the  conquer- 
ing hosts  of  Charles  Martel.  To  the  south  one 
catches  a  glimmer  of  the  sparkling  Mediterranean ; 
to  the  north  rise  the  barren  hills  of  the  Alpilles. 

Standing  upon  those  desolate  heights  of  Les 
Baux  to-day,  the  crumbling  ruins  of  a  mighty 
past  all  about,  one  can  picture  Rene  of  Anjou  and 
Queen  Jeanne  holding  their  Courts  of  Love  with 
regal  magnificence.  Here  as  the  shadows  lengthen 
in  the  golden  silence  of  late  afternoon,  one  catches 
again  the  sound  of  light  laughter  and  of  song  rip- 
pling up  from  those  once  luxurious  halls,  so  si- 
lent now,  yet  vibrant  of  the  past  which  lives,  a 
past  dominating  still  even  as  the  river  that  for 
centuries  has  wound  its  way  down  through  the 
heart  of  France  to  the  sea,  that  same  river  Rhone 
whose  song  has  reverberated  through  all  the  ages : 

"Le  Rhone — c'est  Phumanite  qui  passe." 


VII 

A  HILL-TOWN  OF  SAVOIE 
MIOLANS 

An  eagle  poised  in  flight 

This  Miolans.     Its  sunshot  eyes 

Seeking  the  hills. 

IN  the  fertile  valley  of  the  Isere,  encompassed 
by  wooded  hills  and  silent,  snow-capped 
mountains,  Miolans,  poised  upon  a  craggy  prom- 
ontory, commands  a  wonderful  panoramic  view 
of  the  valley  and  beyond  to  the  Combe  de  Savoie, 
the  Alps  de  Tarentaise,  Marienne  and  Dauphiny 
that,  rising  range  upon  range,  lose  themselves  in 
slow  drifting  clouds. 

There  are  two  approaches  to  Miolans,  one  from 
the  Freterive  side,  the  second  from  Saint-Pierre- 
d'Aubigny,  the  hill-town  over  which  it  broods. 
From  Saint-Pierre,  a  winding  road  skirts  the  vine- 
clad  hill,  a  sudden  bend  revealing  the  chateau  ris- 
ing upon  its  pinnacle  of  rock,  dominating  Saint- 
165 


166  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

Pierre  and  the  tiny  hamlets  of  Bourget,  Miolanet 
and  Miolans,  as  it  in  turn  is  overshadowed  by 
gaunt  Freterive. 

The  history  of  Miolans  is  divided  into  two 
periods,  the  feudal  period,  when  it  belonged  to 
the  powerful  seigneurs  de  Miolans,  and  the  pe- 
riod beginning  after  it  was  ceded  with  all  its  de- 
pendencies by  Claudine  de  Miolans,  the  last  of 
the  direct  line,  to  Charles,  due  de  Savoie.  This 
second  period  dates  from  1523,  although  it  was 
not  until  1559  that  the  chateau  was  transformed 
into  a  fortress  and  a  State's  prison.  Very  little 
is  known  of  the  feudal  history  of  Miolans,  save 
that  from  the  mention  of  the  names  of  Guifred 
and  Nantelme,  Sieurs  de  Miolans  in  the  eleventh 
century,  the  seigneurs  were  powerful  in  the  duchy, 
taking  their  part  in  secular  matters  pertaining  to 
the  state,  as  the  ecclesiastics  of  their  family  held 
sway  in  religious  matters. 

Built  upon  a  Roman  camp,  as  proved  by  the 
Roman  stonework  in  the  foundations,  and  es- 
pecially by  a  Roman  arch  of  brick  found  in  the 
tower  of  Saint  Pierre,  the  oldest  part  of  the 
chateau,  Miolans  maintains  to-day  its  feudal 
primitiveness.  Falling  into  decay  after  the  revo- 
lution, Miolans  has  been  partially  restored  by  its 
present  owner,  who  inhabits  a  portion  of  the 


MIOLANS  167 

chateau,  and  who  has  preserved,  not  only  its  feu- 
dal character,  but  the  atmosphere  of  that  grim 
Middle  Age  when  the  fierce  and  mighty  seigneurs 
swept  down  the  valley  to  sack  and  pillage,  or  sat 
in  their  baronial  hall  administering  justice. 

About  the  gates  of  the  chateau,  the  tiny  hamlet 
of  Miolans  scrambles  picturesquely  along  a  rocky 
knole,  its  plastered  houses  fashioned  with  over- 
hanging roofs  and  balconies,  typical  of  the  moun- 
taineer's chalet.  A  natural  cleft  in  the  rock  forms 
the  outer  moat,  and  to  enter  the  chateau  one  must 
cross  it  by  the  old  stone  drawbridge,  and  so  pass 
through  the  portcullised  gateway  defended  by  a 
bastion  and  a  covered  way.  After  passing  through 
a  second  gateway  guarded  by  casemates,  one  tra- 
verses a  winding  road  between  the  ivy-grown 
walls  and  the  keep,  the  road  shaded  now  by  feath- 
ery larches,  and  bordered  by  single  and  double 
hydrangeas,  and  leading  to  the  third  gateway 
that  opens  into  the  great  courtyard.  This  gate- 
way is  guarded  by  a  massive  round  tower  in  which 
numerous  important  acts  took  place.  The  tower 
marks  the  primitiveness  of  this  feudalistic  cha- 
teau, and  its  essentially  warlike  character.  In 
the  entertainment  of  the  great  nobles  who,  for 
example,  gathered  there  in  1241  to  conclude  the 
Confederation  of  Fiefs,  the  baron  de  Miolans  re- 


i68  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

ceived  and  entertained  them,  not  in  a  special  hall 
of  state,  but  in  the  great  hall  of  the  chateau  that 
was  salon,  dining  hall  and  sleeping  apartment  in 
one.  There  were  two  reasons  for  this.  In  the 
chateaux  of  those  rude  days,  as  in  the  fortified 
towns,  space  was  limited,  and  comfort  was  sacri- 
ficed for  strength.  Then  there  was  the  chance 
that  these  noble  neighbours  might  prove  enemies, 
and  if  so,  it  was  well  for  them  not  to  penetrate 
beyond  the  main  courtyard,  and  so  learn  the  secret 
strength  lying  behind  those  mask-like  walls. 
Across  the  courtyard,  close  to  the  rampart  on  the 
valley  side,  stands  the  chateau  chapel  of  Saint 
Etienne,  the  former  sanctuary  of  a  number  of 
relics,  among  them  three  thorns  from  Christ's 
crown  of  thorns,  brought  from  Palestine  by  Jac- 
ques de  Miolans  at  the  end  of  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury. An  ancient  tomb  rests  in  the  chapel,  but 
the  chapel — for  a  long  time  the  church  of  the 
hamlet  also — was  restored  in  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury, and  again  of  late  years  by  Doctor  Guiter, 
the  present  owner.  On  the  fagade  are  the  arms 
of  Miolans  quartered  with  those  of  Montmayeur. 
When  Claudine  de  Miolans  ceded  Miolans  and 
its  dependencies  to  the  due  de  Savoie  in  1523, 
these  relics — the  Holy  Thorns — were  transferred 
to  the  Augustinian  church  of  Saint-Pierre-d'Au- 


MIOLANS  169 

bigny,  a  monastery  founded  in  1381.  In  1636,  a 
guard  of  honour  of  Saintes  Epines  was  organised, 
an  outgrowth  really  of  a  former  guard  of  honour 
founded  in  the  fifteenth  century  by  one  of  the 
seigneurs  de  Miolans,  who  set  aside  for  their  ex- 
clusive use  a  meadow,  the  "Pre  de  Miolans." 
Every  Passion  Sunday,  the  fete  of  the  Saintes 
Opines  is  celebrated  with  great  solemnity  in  the 
church  at  Saint  Pierre.  Thus  the  picturesque 
hill-town,  clinging  to  the  precipitous  sides  of  the 
Col  du  Frene,  still  looks  toward  Miolans,  pro- 
tector in  former  days  of  its  relics  and  of  its  people. 
The  donjon  and  the  outlying  towers  stand  on 
a  perpendicular  rock  in  the  centre  of  the  enclosure. 
This  keep  was  the  last  retreat,  and  was  connected 
with  the  rest  of  the  chateau  by  a  drawbridge  of 
which  only  the  ivy-grown  piers  remain.  This 
bridge  spanned  a  rock-hewn  moat  that  was 
guarded  on  its  outer  side  by  battlemented  walls. 
Through  the  archway  of  the  keep,  with  its  port- 
cullis still  hanging  in  place,  one  looks  into  a 
garden  bright  with  flowers,  the  sunflowers,  chry- 
santhemums and  hollyhocks  interspersed  with 
fruit  trees — rigs  among  them — a  note  of  the  South 
touched  out  here  in  sight  of  snow-capped  peaks. 
On  the  outer  edge  of  the  garden  rises  the  stalwart 
flanking  tower  of  Saint  Pierre,  from  which  one 


170  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

gets  a  superb  view  of  Mont  Blanc,  white  and 
glistening  and  half-veiled  in  clouds,  the  valley 
crowned  by  the  beauty  of  those  shimmering 
heights.  Another  bit  reminiscent  of  the  South,  was 
the  machicolation  on  this  Tour  Saint  Pierre,  which 
was  similar  to  that  at  Avignon  and  in  Provence, 
excepting  that  it  possessed  squared  ends  instead 
of  rounded.  The  donjon  also  had  squared  cor- 
ners, terminating  in  small  turreted  towers,  un- 
like the  usual  unbroken  surface  of  feudal  keeps. 
The  keep  consisted  of  four  tiers:  on  one  side  of 
the  archway  were  the  kitchens  with  their  wide- 
mouthed  fireplaces  and  ovens,  the  guard  room, 
the  castle  well;  on  the  other  side  were  the  pris- 
ons, the  Inferno,  Purgatory  and  Tresor.  Above 
the  prisons  were  the  Governor's  apartments,  com- 
fortable only  in  comparison  with  the  Inferno, 
which  was  as  dark,  dank  and  chill  as  Dante's  con- 
ception of  the  lower  regions.  In  one  of  its  cachots 
Yolant  de  Miolans  was  walled  up. 

Standing  beside  this  ivy-clad  keep,  enveloped 
by  the  quiet  hum  of  midsummer,  its  archway 
echoing  the  twittering  joyousness  of  birds,  it  is 
hard  to  realise  that  for  three  centuries  Miolans 
was  called  the  "bastile  of  the  dues  de  Savoie." 
The  horrors  perpetrated  here  during  the  feudal 
regime  of  the  seigneurs  de  Miolans  are,  happily, 


Tour  St  Pierre 
Chateau  Miolans 


171 


172  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

perhaps,  age-dimmed  memories.  But  to  this  later 
period  when  Miolans  became  a  fortress  and  a 
state's  prison,  the  archives  of  the  duchy  give  ac- 
cess. Blood-stained  pages  they  are,  including  the 
names  of  the  great  more  often  than  the  lowly,  each 
page  marked  with  inhuman  cruelties  and  injus- 
tice in  an  age  of  the  lettre  de  cachet.  Miolans, 
we  are  told,  was  "destined  essentially  to  emprison 
troublesome  personalities"  who,  having  passed 
beneath  the  portcullis,  were  conveniently  forgot- 
ten. Of  all  the  governors,  the  name  of  Pierre  le 
Blanc  seems  to  stand  out  most  prominently,  a 
synonym  for  ferocity  and  barbarity.  The  Jesuit 
Pere  Monod,  councillor  of  the  Queen  Regent,  was 
prisoner  here  in  1640,  leaving  behind  him,  when 
he  obtained  his  freedom,  some  valuable  manu- 
scripts and  several  solar  watches  which  he  had 
made  for  his  royal  mistress.  Another  prisoner 
of  note  was  Vincent  Lavini,  a  clerk  in  the  Bur- 
eaux du  Ministere,  and  a  tool  of  a  Count  Stortig- 
lione.  Arrested  for  making  counterfeit  bank  notes 
for  the  Count,  Lavini  paid  the  penalty  of  the 
Count's  villainy.  Lavini  spent  twenty-one  years 
at  Miolans,  occupying  himself  with  copying  en- 
gravings, portraits  of  the  pope,  the  king,  Titian, 
Richelieu  and  other  men  of  note.  Under  the 
governorship  of  Launay,  several  prisoners  made 


MIOLANS  173 

their  escape,  the  most  famous  being  the  marquis 
de  Sade,  a  black  sheep  of  a  good  family,  to  whom 
the  husband  of  Laura,  the  beloved  of  Petrarch, 
belonged.  In  love  with  the  youngest  daughter  of 
the  house  of  Montreuil,  the  marquis  was  forced 
into  a  marriage  with  the  eldest,  this  marriage  giv- 
ing him  pretext  to  plunge  himself  into  the  life 
of  a  debauchee.  Crowning  these  episodes  by 
flight  into  Italy  with  his  early  love,  he  was  ar- 
rested and  imprisoned  at  Miolans.  Chance  threw 
him  into  the  company  of  another  reprobate,  the 
baron  de  Songy,  and  together  they  walked  in  the 
court  of  the  lower  fort,  dined  together,  and  often- 
times gambled  away  the  night.  Owing  to  the  re- 
laxation of  discipline  at  that  time,  the  two  dined 
and  played  in  the  room  of  Lieutenant  Duclos, 
where  they  were  quick  to  note  that  the  window 
was  without  bars.  One  night,  the  governor  being 
absent,  they  made  bold  to  invade  the  governor's 
apartment,  where  they  armed  themselves  with 
swords  and  pistols.  Then,  still  unmolested,  they 
let  themselves  down  from  Duclos'  window  by 
means  of  a  rope,  and,  assisted  by  Violon,  de 
Sade's  valet,  who  was  awaiting  them,  they  made 
good  their  escape.  Both  men  were  subsequently 
recaptured.  De  Songy  was  brought  back  to  Mio- 
lans; but  de  Sade  was  sent  to  Paris,  where,  dur- 


174  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

ing  Napoleon's   reign,  he   died   of  his  excesses. 

In  the  Tour  Saint  Pierre,  on  which  is  embossed 
the  arms  of  Miolans,  there  were  three  tiers  of 
prisons  also,  more  solitary  and  terrible,  doubtless, 
than  that  of  the  Inferno.  The  subterranean  Che- 
min  de  Ronde,  connecting  the  keep  with  the  main 
chateau,  and  the  oubliettes  are  of  special  inter- 
est because  of  their  perfect  preservation. 

In  the  ghostly  silence  of  a  winter's  night,  when 
the  mountains  and  the  valley  lie  deep  in  snow, 
when  the  avalanches  come  crashing  down  the 
mountain  side,  and  when  the  wind  cries  fiercely 
through  the  ice-bound  trees,  one  might  catch  again 
the  shrieks  of  the  prisoners,  the  oaths,  the  moans, 
the  ribald  laughter  that  have  echoed  within  those 
grim,  grey  walls.  But  in  the  deepening  glow  of 
the  midsummer  sunset  hour,  the  mountains  half- 
veiled  in  mist  that  has  caught  the  prismic  beauty 
of  a  rainbow,  one  hears  only  the  rippling  laugh- 
ter of  the  evening  breeze,  the  twitter  of  homing 
birds,  the  low  bleating  of  sheep  upon  the  hill- 
side. In  this  brooding  peace  the  ghastly  horrors 
enacted  here  are  blurred  and  softened.  Romance 
casts  its  mystic  spell.  Miolans  is  guardian  rather 
than  oppressor  of  the  hamlets  gathered  about  its 
gates,  Miolans,  the  eagle  poised  in  flight,  its  sun- 
shot  eyes  forever  seeking  the  hills. 


VIII 

A  HILL-TOWN  OF  AUVERGNE 
LE  PUY 

LIKE  Rocamadour,  Le  Puy  is  an  ancient 
shrine  about  which  a  city  has  grown  up, 
and  in  point  of  antiquity  Le  Puy  is  almost  as 
old.  Of  beauty  and  picturesqueness  there  is  little 
to  choose  between  the  two ;  yet  they  are  very  dif- 
ferent. Rocamadour,  clinging  to  the  sheer  sides 
of  the  barren,  desolate  gorge  of  the  Alzou,  is  pos- 
sessed of  a  solitary  grandeur.  Le  Puy,  crowning 
Mont  d'Anis,  dominates  in  majestic  loveliness  the 
fair  valley  of  the  Borne,  a  fertile  valley  bor- 
dered with  the  snow-capped  peaks  of  the  Ceven- 
nes  that  stretch  away  to  the  south  and  east  to  be 
finally  lost  in  the  haze-rimmed  distance.  As  at 
far-away  Rocamadour  and  Mont-Saint-Michel, 
the  citadel  at  Le  Puy  was  built  to  defend  a  shrine, 
and  its  crumbling  walls  are  still  part  of  the  ca- 
thedral precincts.  Along  the  narrow  streets  that 
open  now  and  again  into  a  Place  that  on  market 
175 


176  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

days  is  crowded  with  picturesque  costumes,  one 
sees  women  with  exquisite  lace  caps  sitting  before 
their  doors  making  the  lace  that  has  made  famous 
the  lace-makers  of  Auvergne.  This  jumble  of 
winding  streets  leads  to  the  city's  very  heart,  its 
cathedral,  the  stalwart  guardian  of  a  century  worn 
shrine. 

Although  this  cathedral,  an  exotic  of  the  far 
East,  dates  from  the  end  of  the  sixth  century,  its 
foundation  was  laid  in  the  traditions  of  the  first 
when  the  Mont  d'Anis  was  set  apart  at  the  com- 
mand of  the  Blessed  Virgin  to  be  a  shrine,  a  holy 
spot  upon  whose  jagged  crest  was  to  rise  one  of 
the  noblest  cathedrals  of  France.  The  first  mes- 
sage came  in  the  early  days  when  Saint  Georges 
and  Saint  Front  had  come  from  Rome,  mission- 
aries sent  by  Saint  Peter  to  this  little  Roman 
town  of  Podium  set  about  by  hills.  A  good 
woman  ill  of  the  fever,  was  taken  at  the  bidding 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin  to  Mont  d'Anis  and  laid 
upon  an  ancient  druidical  dolmen,  where,  ac- 
cording to  the  ancient  chronicle,  she  was  miracu- 
lously cured,  and  where  appeared  to  her  a  legion 
of  angels.  The  next  day  Saint  Georges,  accom- 
panied by  his  followers,  repaired  to  the  mountain 
top,  which,  although  it  was  July,  they  found 
covered  with  snow.  Before  the  eyes  of  the  multi- 


LE  PUY  177 

tude  a  stag  leaped  out  of  the  thicket,  tracing  the 
outline  of  a  church.  The  following  day  the  snow 
had  disappeared,  but  a  hedge  of  hawthorn  had 
sprung  up  and  bloomed,  marking  the  ground-plan 
of  the  church  to  be.  This  spot  set  apart  and  held 
sacred  from  earliest  times,  was  not  actually  built 
upon  until  the  sixth  century  under  Saint  Vosy,  a 
successor  of  Saint  Georges.  A  second  message 
from  the  Blessed  Virgin  similiar  to  the  first  came 
before  the  building  was  begun  by  a  young  archi- 
tect, a  Roman  senator  named  Scrutaire.  Built  in 
the  Gallo-Roman  style,  this  basilica  was  built  of 
black  and  white  stone  peculiar  to  Auvergne,  and 
suggestive  of  northern  Italy  and  Byzantine  in- 
fluence, as  is  the  stateliness  of  that  rock-bound 
temple  that  is  always  "watching  to  God."  It  is 
possessed  of  all  the  solemnity  and  mystery  of  the 
East,  reminding  one  of  the  oriental  rock-temples 
dwelling  in  the  very  heart  of  the  mountains.  Es- 
pecially is  this  true  of  its  arched  entrance  where 
innumerable  steps  lead  from  the  Place  straight 
up  to  the  altar, — a  pilgrims'  way  leading  them 
into  the  very  presence  of  their  God.  Even  the 
richness  of  the  lavishly  carved  capitals  and  the 
lightness  and  charm  of  the  Romanesque  arches 
bespeak  the  East.  The  sculptures  as  well  as  the 
architecture  are  Byzantine  in  character,  revealing 


178  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

not  only  the  influence  of  the  crusaders,  who  re- 
turning from  the  Holy  Land  brought  with  them 
Eastern  ideas,  but  also  marking  the  indelible  im- 
press left  by  Saracen  and  Hun  who  in  the  early 
days  swept  like  a  tidal  wave  across  the  snow- 
tipped  mountain  barriers  into  France. 

The  facade,  divided  into  three  great  bays  cor- 
responding to  the  three  great  naves  of  the  ba- 
silica, is  very  imposing.  The  portico  also  divided 
into  three  parts  by  gigantic  pillars  flanked  by 
Byzantine  columns  that  support  the  ancient  roof, 
is  to  quote  an  ancient  poet,  "A  hymn  conceived  for 
the  glory  of  the  Virgin  of  Anis."  Upon  the  key- 
stone of  the  arch  is  carved  a  figure  of  the  Virgin 
Mother.  Carved  deep  upon  the  first  steps  lead- 
ing up  into  the  sanctuary  is  the  watch-word  of 
this  pilgrims'  shrine. 

"Si  vous  n'evitez  pas  le  peche,  evitez  de  toucher  a  seuil 
Car  la  reine  du  ciel  veut  un  culte  sans  tache." 

To  the  right  and  left  of  the  porch,  in  the 
atrium,  are  two  tiny  chapels,  one  a  baptistry  con- 
secrated to  Saint  Gilles,  the  other  to  Saint  Etienne 
and  used  as  a  mortuary  chapel.  Both  are  orna- 
mented with  paintings  wonderfully  preserved,  and 
the  great  cedar  doors  guarding  the  entrance  are 
notable  examples  of  the  best  Byzantine  sculpture, 


LE  PUY  179 

the  rich  ornamentation  recalling  Indian  and  Per- 
sian inlaid  work  and  bas-reliefs.  The  walls  and 
the  arched  roof  of  the  porch  are  covered  with 
frescoes.  A  few  steps  higher  up  once  stood  the 
Door  of  Gold  between  two  columns  of  red  ori- 
ental porphyry.  It  was  adorned  with  massive 
knockers  of  engraved  bronze.  Here  in  the  old 
days  the  Chapter  came  to  attend  the  bishop  at  his 
solemn  entrance  to  the  cathedral's  holy  of  holies; 
here  with  bare  feet,  on  their  knees,  carrying  a 
lighted  candle  in  their  hands,  came  rude  men-at- 
arms,  and  fierce,  proud  nobles,  the  terror  of  the 
mountains,  to  make  honourable  amends  for  their 
misdeeds ;  and  here  on  festal  days  pilgrims  passed 
the  night  in  prayer.  To-day  the  doorway  is 
blocked,  the  great  archway  holding  enshrined  the 
revered  statue  of  the  Black  Virgin,  a  replica  of 
the  first  statue,  "guardian  of  Le  Puy,"  destroyed 
during  the  Revolution,  that  was  bestowed  by 
Saint  Louis  on  his  return  from  the  Holy  Land  as 
a  thank-offering  for  his  release  from  captivity. 
Tradition  has  ascribed  the  original  statue  as  Egyp- 
tian, a  figure  of  the  goddess  Isis  some  say;  others 
that  it  was  carved  by  Jeremiah  in  Egypt  as  a 
symbol  of  the  truth  he  had  prophesied. 

Like  all  churches  and  cathedrals,  Le  Puy  as 
we  see  it  to-day,  is  the  result  of  a  gradual  evo- 


i8o  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

lution,  and  its  history  is  marked  by  three  distinc- 
tive periods.  Its  first  period  of  construction  dates 
from  the  time  of  Saint  Vosy  and  Saint  Scrutaire 
to  the  ninth  century  when  the  choir  was  enlarged 
by  two  side  naves  with  a  square  end  and  a  tran- 
sept with  circular  chapels.  This  square  end  sug- 
gests Cistercian  influence.  The  vaulting  was  low 
and  the  central  dome  was  open.  The  church  thus 
made  a  Greek  cross.  This  "Belfry  of  the  An- 
gels" is  of  interest  not  only  because  of  the  wide 
band  of  exquisite  carving  bordering  it,  but  also 
because  one  sees  the  free  use  of.  the  trompe  arch, 
the  forerunner  of  the  pendentive  that  in  a  later 
period  superceded  the  clumsier  form  of  the  trompe 
arch  altogether.  The  second  period  dates  from 
the  ninth  to  the  eleventh  century  when  the  church 
was  enlarged  by  two  bays,  the  vaulting  of  the 
nave  and  the  transepts  heightened,  and  the  shape 
of  the  central  dome  modified  by  the  construction 
of  a  higher  octagon.  In  the  third  period,  which 
includes  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries,  two 
more  bays  were  added;  the  porch,  the  facade  and 
the  picturesque  staircase  were  built,  giving  added 
stateliness  and  grandeur  to  this  exotic  of  the  East, 
Notre  Dame  of  Le  Puy. 

The  greatest  glory  of  Le  Puy  is  the  Roman- 
esque cloisters  which  rank  among  the  most  beau- 


LE  PUY  181 

tiful  in  France.  They  date  from  the  ninth  cen- 
tury, the  north  side  being  the  most  ancient  por- 
tion. The  south  gallery  surpasses  the  others  in 
the  richness  of  capitals,  in  the  diversity  and  finish 
of  the  subjects,  and  in  the  arabesques  that  adorn 
the  Byzantine  cornice.  In  these  carvings  one 
sees  all  the  lavish  beauty  of  design  touched  with 
the  fantastic  so  characteristically  Eastern.  Along 
the  cornice  there  are  a  series  of  flowers  and  fol- 
iage interspersed  with  the  heads  of  men  and  ani- 
mals,— a  monk  and  a  knight  rescuing  an  abbatial 
cross ;  a  fox  quarrelling  with  a  bird ;  a  dog  biting 
off  the  tail  of  a  demon;  an  angel  saving  a  child 
from  two  demons.  In  the  chapter  house  is  an 
old  painting  representing  Grammar,  Logic,  Rhe- 
toric and  Music.  In  the  centre  of  the  cloister 
garth  stands  the  old  well;  while  towering  far 
above  the  quiet  cloister  rise  the  massive  walls  of 
the  cathedral  and  the  Tour  Saint-Maieul,  the 
ancient  fortress,  walls  unadorned  save  for  the 
black  and  white  stone  and  patches  of  mosaic  work, 
red,  black  and  white  peculiar  to  Auvergne;  walls 
well  fortified  against  the  fierce  lords  of  Polignac; 
walls  of  silence  that  let  no  murmur  of  the  out- 
side world  creep  in  to  break  the  stillness.  In  this 
great  fortress  tower  one  sees  a  jumble  of  broken 
ornament  and  stone, — Roman,  Romanesque  and 


182  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

Renaissance.  The  thirteenth  century  belfry, 
one  of  the  rare  Transitional  bell-towers  extant,  is 
very  fine  with  a  curiously  sculptured  figure  of  the 
builder  upon  it.  The  Porte  du  For  opening  on  the 
Place  du  For, — the  site  of  the  Roman  Forum, — 
is  a  curious  as  well  as  a  very  beautiful  bit  of  archi- 
tecture of  twelfth  century  Byzantine,  each  side 
presenting  a  rounded  arch  connected  with  the 
others  only  at  three  points.  Under  the  campanile 
one  finds  some  fourth  century  Gallo-Roman  sculp- 
tures and  a  frieze  that  once  adorned  a  Roman 
house  at  Nimes.  The  baptistry  of  Saint  Jean, 
dating  from  the  fourth  century,  stands  apart  from 
the  cathedral,  as  does  the  ancient  episcopal  palace 
that  to-day  stands  empty,  its  massive  walls 
crumbling  to  decay. 

Among  the  throng  of  pilgrims  who  for  cen- 
turies have  worshipped  at  the  shrine  of  Our  Lady 
of  Anis,  the  most  illustrious  were  the  Emperor 
Charlemagne,  whose  munificence  made  Le  Puy  a 
power  among  the  bishoprics  of  France;  Saint 
Louis,  whose  gift  of  the  Black  Virgin  made  this 
shrine  the  most  holy  spot  in  France ;  Charles  VII., 
who,  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  sanctuary,  saw 
for  the  first  time  the  royal  banner  of  France  un- 
furled to  the  cries  of  the  populace :  "Vive  notre 


LE  PUY 


183 


roi  Charles  VII. !" ;  Francis  I.,  who  confirmed  all 
the  privileges  of  the  city,  the  bishopric  and  the 
chapter,  and  who  on  his  return  to  Paris  presented 
the  cathedral  with  two  silver  sanctuary  lamps  with 
the  command  that  they  be  hung  before  the  statue 
of  the  Black  Virgin. 

Some  quarter  of  a 
mile  distant,  upon  a 
jut  of  basalt  rock, 
stands  the  picturesque 
chapel  of  Saint- 
Michel-Aiguilhe.  It  _. 
dates  from  the  tenth  *?fe 
century,  and  is  a  re- 
markably fine  example 
of  early  Romanesque, 
especially  the  facade 
and  the  portal  which 
is  carved  with  curious 
bas-reliefs,  Bysantine  in  character.  The  interior 
is  oval  in  shape,  with  a  double  row  of  pillars  en- 
closing the  central  nave. 

Far  off  across  the  valley  of  the  Borne,  upon  an- 
other mass  of  basalt  rock  stands  Polignac,  the 
stronghold  in  the  rude  days  of  Middle  Age  of 
those  fierce  lords  of  Polignac,  who  were  the  men- 
ace always  of  the  cathedral  city  of  Mont  d'Anis, 


Distant  View  of 
St-Michel-Aiguilhe. 


Doorway,  St.-Michel-Aiguilhe. 


184 


LE  PUY  185 

and  whose  ruthless  pillaging  brought  terror  to  the 
pilgrim  worshippers.  It  is  a  wonderful  old  cha- 
teau, built  partly  upon  the  ruins  of  an  ancient 
Roman  temple  dedicated  to  Apollo,  its  portcullis 
tower  protected  by  natural  rock  defences  and  a 
round  tower.  The  approach  is  long  and  winding 
even  after  one  reaches  the  little  grey  town  with  its 
magnificent  Romanesque  church,  a  narrow  way 
flanked  by  frowning  walls  and  massive  towers. 
The  superb  square  keep  has  been  restored  of  late, 
and  in  it  is  preserved  the  giant  mask  of  Apollo, — 
a  bearded  Apollo  with  blue  eyes, — that  once  rested 
upon  the  top  of  the  stone  altar  of  the  temple,  near 
the  well  from  whence  issued  the  voice  of  the 
oracle.  Here  in  ancient  days  there  dwelt  a  fa- 
mous oracle,  and  here  the  Emperor  Claudius  came 
in  state  from  Lyons  to  consult  the  oracle  of  this 
pagan  shrine. 

The  kitchens  and  the  dining  hall  with  fine 
old  windows,  the  living  apartments  with  the 
remnants  of  a  mediaeval  fireplace,  the  scanty  re- 
mains of  the  chapel  about  which  cluster  stone 
coffins,  shaped  for  the  head,  and  a  few  crumbling 
walls  are  all  that  remain  now  of  a  stronghold  that 
once  flung  defiance  to  the  world. 

Standing  there  by  the  crumbling  parapet,  and 
looking  off  across  the  fertile  valley,  once  the  crater 


i86  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

of  a  volcano,  one  sees  Le  Puy  rising  gleaming 
white  against  the  horizon  rimmed  by  the  jagged 
peaks  of  the  snow-capped  Cevennes.  Two  shrines, 
one  pagan,  one  Christian,  bear  witness  to  the 
peace  of  the  valley  of  the  Borne  set  about  by  hills, 
a  peace  that  has  survived  the  struggle  and  the 
stress  of  centuries.  The  power  and  glory  of  im- 
perial Rome  has  vanished;  the  magnificence  of 
royal  France  is  but  an  illumined  page  of  his- 
tory; the  gaily-apparelled  throngs  of  pilgrims  have 
given  place  to  those  of  humble  mien:  but  about 
Le  Puy, — the  holiest  spot  in  France, — there 
broods  not  only  the  spirit  of  the  France  of  yester- 
day, but  the  spirit  of  the  France  of  to-day.  High 
above  the  cathedral  upon  the  Rocher  Corneille,  a 
throne  of  volcanic  rock,  stands  the  giant  statue 
of  Our  Lady  of  France,  symbol  truly  of  that  de- 
mocracy which  is  the  very  soul  of  France  to-day. 
Le  Puy  standing  in  the  fair  valley  of  the 
Borne  is  a  place  of  wonderful  architectural  feats, 
its  picturesqueness  unrivalled,  its  chapel-crowned 
spikes  of  basalt  rock  unique.  It  is  a  city  of  dreams 
whose  winding  streets  are  but  a  pilgrims'  way 
leading  upward  to  the  heights,  its  heart  the  ca- 
thedral of  Eastern  beauty,  stateliness  and  mystery 
that  as  throughout  the  ages  guards  still  a  cen- 
tury-worn shrine. 


IX 

A  HILL-TOWN  OF  PICARDIE 
LAON 

T)ERHAPS  of  all  the  cathedrals  of  France, 
1  Laon  is  most  truly  the  centre  of  the  people's 
life;  for  it  was  the  meeting  place  for  social  and 
civil  as  well  as  for  religious  ends ;  a  general  meet- 
ing place  and  not  merely  a  hallowed  spot  in 
which  to  pray.  Laon  conserves  its  democratic 
origin;  its  keynote  is  democracy, — ideal  of 
France  to-day, — and  it  represents  the  first  awak- 
ening of  nationalism,  the  first  conception  of  na- 
tional unity  such  as  one  sees  at  Chinon,  at 
Uzerche  and  some  of  the  Norman  strongholds. 
Like  its  sister  Mont-Saint-Michel,  it  is  rude  and 
strong,  the  monument  of  a  people  daring,  ener- 
getic and  full  of  masculine,  of  warlike  grandeur; 
but  at  Mont-Saint-Michel  the  feudal  spirit  reigns, 
whereas  at  Laon,  a  hill-town  of  the  communal 
type,  democracy  since  earliest  times  was  at  grips 
with  feudalism,  its  people  ready  to  attack  this 
187 


i88  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

dragon  of  the  Middle  Ages  whenever  it  raised  its 
head  to  strike  at  their  rights  which  they  held 
dearer  than  life  itself.  At  Laon,  all  through  its 
history,  we  see  an  almost  continuous  death  strug- 
gle between  the  people  and  their  seigneur  the 
bishop,  between  democracy  and  feudal  autocracy, 
democracy  in  the  end  throttling  feudalism  for- 
ever and  planting  the  seed  of  internationalism, 
which  in  its  flowering  was  to  make  for  unity,  pa- 
triotism, the  glorious  oneness  of  the  France  of  to- 
day. 

In  position,  Laon  is  reminiscent  of  both  Mont- 
Saint-Michel  and  of  Le  Puy,  for  the  rock  on 
which  it  stands  rises  abruptly  out  of  the  plain, 
an  isolated  rock  standing  in  the  midst  of  wind- 
swept grain  fields  that  stretch  out  like  a  great 
inland  sea  to  lose  themselves  in  the  horizon  line. 
The  gold-grey  town  covers  the  entire  top  of  the 
long  narrow  plateau,  that  on  the  western  end 
curves  suddenly  to  the  south,  thus  forming  a  har- 
bour-like valley  called  the  Cuve  de  Saint  Vin- 
cent, a  picturesque  spot  partly  covered  with  gar- 
dens and  vineyards  and  partly  wooded.  Sug- 
gestive too  of  Italy,  this  tree-girt  town  both  in  its 
approach  by  the  white  winding  road  and  the  steep 
flight  of  steps,  and  in  its  domination  of  the  crest 
of  the  hill ;  for  no  houses  straggle  up  the  precip- 


LAON  189 

itous  sides, — a  characteristic  of  French  hill-towns. 
In  its  heart  dwells  the  "glory  of  the  mountain," 
its  cathedral  of  Notre  Dame,  that  because  of  its 
position  possesses  more  dignity  than  Chartres,  its 
impressiveness  centred  in  the  grey  cluster  of 
weather-beaten  towers ;  for  this  cathedral,  as  Viol- 
let-le-Duc  says,  was  built  by  a  race  of  giants,  and 
belongs  to  the  age  of  the  great  Gothic  cathedrals, 
the  age  of  Amiens,  Chartres  and  Rheims.  Yet  it 
is  distinctly  individual,  reflecting  the  temper  and 
the  spirit  of  the  men  who  created  it.  It  pos- 
sesses none  of  that  religious  fervour  permeating 
the  other  three;  the  mystic  spirit  enveloping  Le 
Puy  is  foreign  to  it.  It  is  expressive  rather  of  the 
rude  savagery,  the  warlike  energy  of  the  Normans 
coupled  with  their  robust  faith,  a  faith  that  ex- 
pressed itself  in  deeds  rather  than  contemplation, 
in  that  close  union  of  God  and  man  as  revealed 
in  the  mingling  of  their  religious  and  civil  life,  in 
their  celebration  within  the  cathedral  walls  of 
the  Feast  of  the  Innocents  and  the  Feast  of 
Fools, — the  militant  spirit  of  Mont-Saint-Michel 
expressing  itself  at  Laon  in  the  cause  of  democ- 
racy. These  good  people  of  Laon,  no  less  than 
the  people  of  Le  Puy,  worshipped  an  ideal  and 
fought  for  it,  an  ideal  that  of  a  truth  is  the  very 
heart  and  soul  of  religion  itself,  a  democracy  that 


190  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

in  the  Middle  Ages  was  in  reality  a  more  domi- 
nant note  than  feudalism. 

Laon  saw  the  passing  of  the  Gauls,  the  Romans 
and  the  Franks,  its  grey  walls  already  scarred  and 
stained  when  Brunhilda  died  within  the  shadow  of 
its  hill.  In  the  third  century,  Saint  Beat  came 
from  Italy  bringing  Christianity  to  this  hill-town 
of  the  north ;  and  not  long  after  Saint  Preuve  came 
thither  from  far  away  Scotland.  So  the  first 
chapel  was  built,  which,  growing  too  small,  was 
replaced  by  a  larger  church,  until  in  the  eleventh 
century,  Laon  rising  to  the  dignity  of  a  bishopric, 
the  cathedral  was  begun  soon  after  that  memor- 
able year  of  1112  that  saw  the  first  establishment 
of  the  commune.  Thus  from  the  laying  of  its 
foundation-stone,  the  cathedral  was  built  in  the 
spirit  of  the  commune,  as  the  cathedral  was  the 
centre  of  the  people's  life,  breathing  the  ideals  of 
democracy,  each  stone  an  embodiment  of  the  tem- 
per of  those  who  lifted  in  their  midst  a  lasting 
monument  to  their  ideals.  Laon  in  the  twelfth 
and  thirteenth  centuries  was  rich,  populous  and 
turbulent,  and  was  one  of  \  the  first  to  establish  a 
communal  form  of  government  which  was  mod- 
elled partly  after  Noyon  and  partly  after  St. 
Quentin.  In  1191,  they  obtained  from  Philip 
Augustus  a  confirmation  of  the  charter  that  had 


LAON  191 

been  already  granted  them  by  Louis  le  Gros  to 
whom  they  had  agreed  to  pay  a  yearly  tribute  in 
exchange  for  their  rights.  This  original  charter 
which  was  forced  upon  their  bishop,  Gaudri,  a 
Norman  by  birth  and  a  referendary  of  Henry  I. 
of  England,  was  obtained  following  events  that 
occurred  during  the  bishop's  temporary  absence  in 
England,  and  after  his  return, — a  sudden  upris- 
ing of  the  people  occasioned  by  oppression,  and  a 
desire  to  obtain  their  freedom  at  all  costs  even  to 
the  murder  of  their  seigneur  and  bishop.  The 
sign  and  symbol  of  this  new-found  liberty  was 
twofold,  the  cathedral  they  were  to  build,  and 
the  great  communal  tower  standing  in  the  heart 
of  the  town,  the  Tour  de  Beffroi  that  summoned 
the  citizens  not  only  in  time  of  danger  but  to  pass 
judgment.  As  Thierry  says,  it  could  be  seen  from 
afar,  expressive  of  their  power.  It  was  during 
the  ensuing  years  of  peace  that  the  people  began 
the  building  of  their  cathedral,  the  home  of  their 
secular  as  well  as  their  spiritual  life.  Chief 
among  the  characteristics  essentially  peculiar  to 
Laon,  is  the  long  choir  with  its  square  apse  which 
is  strangely  in  harmony  with  the  simple  direct- 
ness and  rude  strength  of  its  builders.  Though 
this  square  apsidal  east  end  points  to  English  in- 
fluence, Laon  having  been  under  their  domination 


192  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

for  a  time,  yet  it  is  probably  really  due  to  Cister- 
cian influence  that  was  the  cause  of  this  style  of 


Laon 

La"Cathec(rdle> 


building  in  England, — an  influence  that  in  archi- 
tecture as  well  as  in  religion  strove  to  bring  back 
the  old  ascetic  ideals  of  early  monasticism,  the 


LAON  193 

restraint  and  simplicity  of  line  of  the  early  Nor- 
man builders.  The  high  inner  porch  and  the  ap- 
proach to  the  north  transept  are  both  distinctive  of 
Laon.  The  interior  which  is  very  beautiful,  was 
once  as  rich  and  glowing  as  Saint  Marks  in 
Venice.  Now,  despite  the  fine  stained  glass  win- 
dows through  which  the  southern  sun  pours  its 
coloured  gold,  it  is  cold  and  barren,  devoid  of  the 
fervid  glow  of  mysticism  enveloping  Chartres  and 
Le  Puy;  yet  the  grace  of  the  triforium,  the  lofty 
span  of  its  arches,  its  superb  choir  gates,  its  row 
of  nave  chapels  enclosed  in  exquisitely  carved 
screens,  hold  one  by  the  sheer  force  of  the  "war- 
like masculine  energy"  expressed  by  a  beauty  and 
simplicity  of  line  and  form  that  is  truly  God-like. 
Miracles  this  great  church  has  known  as  well  as 
Chartres  and  Le  Puy,  as  it  has  known  and  received 
saintly  bishops,  among  them  Saint  Remi,  as  well 
as  those  who  held  their  seigneurial  power  above 
their  ecclesiastical ;  and  in  the  old  fifteenth  century 
inventory  one  finds  record  of  penitents  and  of 
women  possessed  of  devils  coming  to  this  glorious 
cathedral  to  be  exorcised.  With  this  race  of  giants 
dwelling  on  their  hill-top,  one  finds  many  seem- 
ing inconsistencies.  Turbulent  and  full  of  war- 
like energy  they  are,  and  quick  to  do  battle  for 
their  rights  even  to  murder;  yet  this  little  grey 


Laon   La  Cathedrdle. Interior. 


194 


LAON  195 

town  was  so  full  of  churches  that  it  was  called 
the  "Ville  Sainte"  in  the  old  days ;  the  two  recon- 
ciled by  the  mutual  ideal  lying  at  the  heart  of 
both,  democracy,  the  close  union  of  the  material 
and  the  spiritual,  the  keynote,  in  short,  of  the 
eleventh  century. 

The  fourteenth  century  facade  is  a  masterpiece 
of  pure  Gothic,  its  sculptured  figures  of  the  perfec- 
tion of  Rheims  and  Amiens,  each  figure  of  individ- 
ual perfection  and  belonging  to  the  floodtide  of 
Gothic  art  in  France,  a  period  when  every  mason 
was  an  artist  who  attained  the  highest  because  of 
the  spirit  in  which  he  worked ;  a  period  in  French 
Gothic  sculpture  which  Mr.  Cram  holds  equal  to 
the  best  work  of  Greece. 

There  is  a  suggestion  of  Spain  in  the  celebra- 
tion of  the  Feast  of  Fools,  reminiscent  of  the 
dancing  boys  of  Seville  who  at  Corpus  Christi  and 
at  the  Feast  of  the  Immaculate  Conception  dance 
before  the  altar  in  the  cathedral.  These  farces 
were  abolished  at  Laon  in  1560;  but  the  memory 
of  them  was  conserved  by  a  custom  observed  until 
the  last  century,  that  of  distributing  to  those 
assisting  at  the  Mass  on  Epiphany  crowns  of 
green  leaves.  In  the  fifteenth  century,  many  mys- 
tery plays  were  presented  in  the  great  nave  of 
the  cathedral,  in  which  the  monks  took  part  not 


196  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

disdaining  to  be  counted  among  the  actors.  In 
1462  at  Witsuntide  the  Passion  of  Christ  was 
given,  covering  a  period  of  five  days;  and  in 
August  1476  the  mystery  play  entitled  "Les  Jeux 
de  la  Vie  de  Monseigneur  Saint  Denis"  was  pre- 
sented, revealing  truly  the  perfect  faith  and  na- 
ivete of  these  people  of  turbulent  Laon.  That 
they  loved  their  cathedral  passionately  is  shown 
by  the  way  they  guarded  it  from  the  scorching 
flame  of  revolution  that  swept  France  in  1793, 
the  flame  kindled  so  many  centuries  before  at 
Laon,  consuming  the  hearts  of  the  nation  that 
was  to  rise  purged  and  cleansed  from  the  ashes 
of  the  old.  In  sympathy  with  the  Revolution,  and 
transforming  their  cathedral  for  a  time  into  a 
Temple  of  Reason,  they  yet  guarded  it  sacredly 
from  the  ruthless  hand  of  a  frenzied  mob.  Of 
the  vast  treasure  belonging  to  the  cathedral,  little 
was  left  at  the  time  of  the  Revolution;  for  the 
inroads  made  by  Francis  I.  and  Louis  XIV.  were 
princely,  both  monarchs  having  found  this  an 
easy  way  to  replenish  their  empty  coffers. 

The  thirteenth  century  episcopal  palace  is  now 
the  Palais  de  Justice,  but  one  can  still  slip  into 
the  quiet  green  of  the  bishop's  garden  where  the 
remnant  of  an  exquisite  old  cloister  remains.  The 
glory  of  Laon  is  its  gold-grey  towers  of  which 


LAON 


197 


one  gets  a  peep  from  the  cloister  garth,  towers 
from  which  the  patient  oxen  look  down  as  they 
have  for  centuries,  from  the  open  arches  and  win- 
dows upon  the  town  and  the  plain  from  whence 
they  hauled  the  colossal  stones  for  the  building 
of  the  cathedral, — touching  memorial  of  a  grate- 


Laon:  Colonnades  du  Palais] 
de  Justice. 

ful  people.  Yet  here  again  one  sees  the  temper 
of  these  people.  At  Chartres  the  people  aflame 
with  pious  enthusiasm  in  the  rearing  of  their  ca- 
thedral, dragged  the  stones  from  the  valley  with 
their  own  hands.  Not  so  Laon.  They  too  built 
to  the  glory  of  God ;  but  these  men  expended  their 
energy  in  keeping  their  bishops  in  order  and  them- 
selves free,  leaving  the  oxen  to  have  their  proper 


198  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

share  in  the  building  of  this  lasting  monument 
to  democracy,  the  common  meeting  place  for  com- 
munal gatherings  and  for  prayer.  The  building 
up  of  the  commune  and  the  protection  of  their 
rights  absorbed  them  far  more  than  cathedral 
building.  They  were  no  less  builders  than  their 
Norman  neighbours,  but  their  vision  carried  them 
beyond  mere  wood  and  stone. 

These  towers  of  Laon  with  their  oxen,  so 
stately  in  their  simplicity,  so  rude  and  strong  yet 
giving  an  effect  of  lightness  and  airiness,  are  un- 
equalled according  to  a  thirteenth  century  archi- 
tect and  traveller,  one  Villard  de  Honnecourt  of 
Cambrai ;  and  seeing  them,  one  is  ready  to  believe 
him.  No  matter  where  one  sees  them,  from  the 
end  of  one  of  the  lane-like  streets,  or  close  by  from 
a  corner  of  the  bishop's  garden,  or  from  the  ram- 
parts, they  are  forever  regrouping  their  gold-grey 
beauty  against  the  sky.  There  is  a  well-shaded 
walk  about  the  town  possessed  of  much  variety, 
and  from  which  one  can  get  lovely  and  varied 
views  of  the  town,  the  cathedral  and  the  wide- 
reaching  plain.  In  places  the  walk  is  terraced; 
again  it  opens  into  a  formal  grove  where  on 
feast  days  and  in  fair-time  the  people  dance  be- 
neath the  stars.  In  one  spot  it  passes  the  an- 
cient Porte  d'Ardon;  at  another  the  Porte  des 


LAON 


199 


Chenizelles,  or  perchance  a  remnant  of  the  hoary 
old  town  wall;  while  at  one  place  the  path  slips 
through  a  deep,  sun-flecked  wood  full  of  primeval 
beauty. 

The  transitional  church  of  Saint  Martin  at  the 
western  end  of  the  plateau  is  of  interest  because 
one  of  its  ancient  tombs  recalls  the  great  name 


,Laon.  L'Egflise  .st  Martin. 

of  de  Coucy;  for  in  the  treacherous  Thomas  de 
Marie,  a  son  of  d'Enguerrand  de  Coucy,  the  bour- 
geois thought  they  had  found  a  champion  in  their 
fight  for  liberty.  To  their  sorrow  they  discovered 
that  his  interest  in  their  cause  was  but  his  per- 
sonal hatred  of  the  king,  Louis-le-Gros,  and  in  the 
end  he  abandoned  them  to  the  mercy  of  the  king. 
The  ancient  abbey  of  Saint  Vincent,  now  occu- 
pied by  military  engineers,  figured  in  the  constant 
wars  between  bourgeois  and  bishop,  proving  a 


200  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

sanctuary  to  the  townspeople  in  their  hour  of 
need.  From  here  one  gets  an  imposing  view  of 
the  cathedral  across  the  Cuve  de  Saint  Vincent. 

Standing  upon  the  ramparts  and  looking  out 
across  the  plain,  it  is  not  difficult  to  picture  the 
warrior  bishops  of  Laon  returning  from  their  ex- 
peditions of  pillage  or  of  factional  warfare  with 
their  neighbours  of  Coucy,  of  Crecy,  of  Pierre- 
fonds,  and  revelling  in  the  beauty  of  their  cathe- 
dral rising  proudly  from  its  rocky  eminence,  its 
lofty  towers  the  glory  of  Laon  as  Laon  is  the 
"glory  of  the  mountain."  Laon  is  bearing  wit- 
ness even  in  its  present  hour  of  German  occupa- 
tion, though  riddled  and  torn  by  shell-fire,  to  the 
democracy  that  gave  it  birth,  to  those  first  stirrings 
of  nationalism  that  to-day  are  the  very  bedrock  of 
that  great  nation.  Laon,  rude  and  strong,  is  the 
monument  of  a  people  not  only  daring,  ener- 
getic and  full  of  "masculine  warlike  energy,"  but 
of  a  people  who  worshipped  and  bled  for  an  ideal 
that  lies  at  the  very  heart  of  religion  itself, — 
democracy,  an  ideal  that  is  the  life-blood  of  the 
France  of  to-day. 


A  HILL-TOWN  OF  LA  BEAUCE 
CHARTRES 

ONE  of  the  chief  fascinations  of  history  is 
tracing  the  connecting  link  binding  one 
period  with  another,  one  age  with  a  succeeding 
one, — this  link  the  visible  point  marking  the  foot- 
steps of  evolution;  and  every  age  is  but  the  pro- 
totype of  that  which  lies  close-folded  in  the  fu- 
ture. So  at  Chartres:  we  wander  through  its 
steep,  century-worn  streets,  overshadowed  by  the 
timbered  houses  of  the  past,  all  quiet  now  and 
dormant,  like  the  inmates, — rest  following  on  the 
heels  of  the  Herculean  labours  of  a  former  gen- 
eration that  raised  that  mighty,  grand  cathedral 
in  their  midst  in  honour  of  Our  Lady.  Yet  in 
the  sleepy  drone  of  midday,  we  can  hear  the  puls- 
ing reflex  of  that  throbbing  impetus  of  Middle 
Age,  the  far-off  echo  even  of  the  chant  of  Druid 
and  of  prophecy  now  so  visibly  fulfilled;  and  in 
the  worship  of  this  temple,  whose  power  predomi- 


202  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

nates  still,  we  see  again  the  evolution  that  has 
been  wrought  in  the  crude  worship  of  the  Druids, 
with  its  half  truths  and  its  insight  into  what  in 
later  days  became  reality.  While,  in  its  dedica- 
tion, seems  to  lie  the  keynote  of  its  being  and  its 
primary  devotion, — dedicated  and  set  apart  un- 
der the  especial  care  of  "Our  Lady  Under  the 
Earth,"  of  her  whose  divine  destiny  was  foretold 
by  a  voice  speaking  out  of  the  cloud  of  a  druidical 
sacrifice  a  century  before  the  dawn  broke  over 
the  night  of  a  pagan  world. 

In  those  rude  horizon  days,  a  grove  of  oaks 
overlooked  in  silent  solemnity  the  fertile  land  of 
La  Beauce,  and  here  at  certain  seasons  the  ruling 
tribe  of  Carnutes,  headed  by  their  king,  one  Pri- 
cus,  assembled  while  the  Druids,  vested  in  their 
mantles  of  white  wool,  performed  their  accus- 
tomed ceremonies  for  gathering  in  the  mistletoe 
which,  coming  down  from  Heaven,  attached  itself 
to  oaks  and  divers  other  trees, — a  figure  of  the 
Crucified  Messiah, — symbol  and  token  of  the  Gift 
that  was  to  come.  "For,  as  the  Archdruid  made 
sacrifice  of  bread  and  wine,"  so  says  the  ancient 
chronicle,  "according  to  his  custom,  praying  the 
God  of  Heaven  that  the  sacrifice  might  be  salu- 
tary to  all  the  people  of  Carnutes,  the  Divine  in- 
breathing so  overpowered  him  as  to  well-nigh 


CHARTRES  203 

strike  him  speechless.  The  voice  was  as  of  an 
angel's  speaking  from  out  the  cloud,  filling  the 
old  priest's  heart  with  joy  as  he  did  hear  the  prom- 
ise of  fulfilment,  that  in  one  hundred  years  She 
would  come  who  would  restore  the  Golden  Age 
in  bringing  forth  Him  for  Whom  all  nations 
waited."  So  believing,  they  raised  an  altar  in  her 
honour,  there  within  the  grove,  placing  upon  it 
an  image  of  this  "Virgini  Puriturse,"  who,  through 
her  Son,  would  bring  redemption  to  a  weary,  sati- 
ate world. 

When  to  this  fair  land  St.  Potentian  and  his 
missionaries  came,  fulfilment  having  been  accom- 
plished, they  found  the  people  clinging  still  to 
their  old  belief,  not  worshipping  the  deities 
brought  thither  by  their  Roman  conquerors, — the 
image  of  the  Virgin  and  her  Child  remaining  still 
within  the  sacred  grove,  guarded  by  the  few 
Druids  who  were  left,  and  who  had  been  given 
sovereignty  of  the  city  by  the  good  King  Pricus 
before  the  Roman  conquest.  The  people  received 
with  joy  the  preaching  of  the  missionaries;  their 
faith  in  things  to  come  being  thus  made  whole, 
they  were  baptised,  the  statue  purified  with  holy 
water  and  with  priestly  blessing;  the  sanctuary 
consecrated  to  the  Blessed  Virgin,  so  eminently 
fitting.  Here  the  See  of  Chartres  was  founded 


204  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

with  St.  Aventine  as  bishop,  and  after  Constan- 
tine's  conversion  the  first  basilica  was  built,  en- 
shrining the  sacred  grotto,  giving  it  sanctuary  from 
the  rude  world  outside,' the  crypt  to  alone  survive 
the  fire  of  warlike  centuries.  From  the  smoulder- 
ing ashes  of  a  Norse  invasion  the  cathedral  was 
rebuilt  on  its  present  scale  in  1 1 20,  and  with  such 
enthusiasm  that  men,  and  women  too,  yoked  them- 
selves to  carts  to  drag  materials  for  its  building. 
As  we  see  it  to-day  in  all  its  grandeur  and  proud 
loftiness  of  mien,  it  is  the  Gothic  of  the  thirteenth 
century  that  triumphs,  the  earlier  style  marked 
only  by  the  ancient  crypt,  the  West  Front,  and 
the  old  spire,  these  three  escaping  from  the  ruth- 
less fire  of  1194  that  crumbled  the  half-finished 
edifice  to  dust  and  ashes, — the  dread  fire-spirit 
pursuant  enemy  of  all  its  days,  yet  quenching  not 
the  more  sweeping  enthusiastic  fire  that  in  the  end 
conquered, — all  conquering  prevailed. 

Its  walls  and  towers  are  built  with  blocks  Ti- 
tan-hewn, a  monstrous  conception  simply  wrought, 
investing  it  with  a  peculiar  dignity;  austere  it  is, 
yet  marvellously  beautiful.  Its  great  West  Front 
is  pierced  by  three  deep  arched  doorways,  lav- 
ishly set  with  statues  boldly  carved  and  of  giant 
size,  yet  withal  stiff  and  Byzantine  in  type, 
touched  by  the  East  from  whence  the  prophecy 


Exterior  of  Chartres  Cathedral 


CHARTRES  205 

had  hailed  and  the  fulfilment  also.  Prophets,  el- 
ders of  the  Apocalypse  and  Biblical  characters 
surround  the  Christ,  the  central  figure  of  them 
all.  Above,  there  are  three  pointed  windows  sur- 
mounted by  a  rose,  crowned  in  its  turn  by  an 


Cathedral  Doors.  Chartres. 

arcade  of  sixteenth  century  statues,  and  just  above 
the  gable  is  a  figure  of  the  Virgin  standing  between 
two  angels ;  while  on  its  apex  rises  a  figure  of  the 
Saviour;  the  rest  of  that  vast  acreage  of  stone  is 
barren  and  bare  of  carving  and  of  ornament. 
The  cathedral  portals,  north  and  south,  are  more 
elaborate  and  of  later  date,  a  fretwork  of  the 
sculptor's  fantasie,  wonderfully  cut  and  chiselled, 
the  portals  peopled  not  with  graven  images  alone, 


206  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

but  pulsing  also  with  the  life  pressed  deep  by 
their  creators'  hands  and  skilful  tooling.  The 
porches  that  precede  them,  of  later  date  still,  give 
a  depth  and  nobleness  withal,  an  approach  re- 
cessed, thus  veiling  the  jeweled  mysteries  within 
by  long,  dim  shadowy  perspectus. 

Chartres,  however,  tells  not  its  story  writ  in 
stone  as  Amiens,  though  much  is  graven  thus  nor 
can  be  equalled, — as  in  these  portals  and  the  great 
choir  wall  within, — the  life  and  passion  of  the 
Christ  cut  with  cameo  finesse  yet  strongly,  "point 
lace  in  stone" ;  His  whole  life  crowded  thus  about 
the  altar  of  His  temple,  and  wrought  by  the  same 
hand,  Jean  Texier,  who  planned  the  tessellated 
spire,  outsoaring  in  its  delicate  beauty  and  im- 
pressiveness  even  Antwerp  and  Strassburg. 

As  we  step  from  out  the  hot  glare  of  noonday 
and  stand  in  the  cool,  shadowy  depths  of  the 
nave,  we  feel  amid  the  rich  dimness  of  its  lighting 
the  touch  of  the  Orient  again, —  a  Byzantine  lux- 
uriance of  colouring  far  different  from  the  open 
cheerfulness  of  Amiens.  A  sense  of  mystery  creeps 
over  you,  and  bit  by  bit  you  catch  the  glow  of  all 
that  jeweled  prismic  mass  of  coloured  light  filter- 
ing through  the  windowed  walls  of  Orient-hued 
glass  until  the  shimmering  dust  itself  is  stirred 
and  vibrant  in  the  soft  translucent  mellowness. 


CHARTRES  207 

The  trefoil,  emblem  of  the  Trinity,  is  interwoven 
in  the  design  of  the  cathedral,  its  elevations  di- 
vided into  three,  the  arcades  springing  from  the 
ground  the  first;  the  triforium  reached  in  the  sec- 
ond; the  third  containing  the  clerestory,  its  mul- 
lioned  windows  of  unusual  slenderness,  sur- 
mounted each  one  by  a  rose.  The  lower  walls  are 
pierced  by  simple  lancets.  Thus  in  effect,  the 
highest  peak  is  flushed  with  colour  rich  and  ra- 
diant as  is  the  worn  and  hollowed  floor  of  stone, — 
a  threefold  halo  rainbow-hued  the  vast  interior, 
encompassing,  clothing  its  dim,  deep  recesses  in 
garments  soft  and  glistering.  A  coloured  maze 
called  La  Lieue  winds  its  way  in  intricate  design 
along  the  pavement,  a  penitential  path  for  wor- 
shippers, the  fifty-first  Psalm  graven  upon  its 
blue  and  white ;  a  pavement  unique  in  this,  the 
slabs  mark  no  man's  grave ;  for,  according  to  that 
old-time  chronicler,  Sebastian  Rouillard,  the 
"Church  has  this  pre-eminence  as  being  the  couch 
or  resting  place  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and  in 
token  thereof  has  been,  even  until  this  day,  pre- 
served pure,  clean  and  entire,  without  ever  hav- 
ing been  dug  or  opened  for  any  burial."  The 
massive  pillars  seem  to  toy  with  the  great  weight 
imposed  upon  them,  their  sculptured  capitals  the 
chiselled  crown  of  royalty,  supporting  in  the  olden 


208  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

days  a  gold-hued  chestnut  roof,  "le  Foret,"  so  it 
was  called,  consumed  by  the  tongued  monster  also 
a  century  or  two  ago,  and  replaced  by  metal  work 
inferior  in  effect  and  workmanship. 

The  Chartres  Bible,  then,  is  written  not  in 
stone,  but  tells  its  story  in  the  wealth  of  thirteenth 
century  stained  glass  as  rich  in  figures  and  de- 
sign as  the  rich  colour  scheme  of  their  setting,  these 
windows  numbering  in  all  one  hundred  and  thirty- 
five,  inclusive  of  three  immense  roses,  thirty-five 
of  medium  size  and  twelve  small  ones, — great 
wheels  of  fire  telling  their  story,  often,  with  flam- 
ing tongues  of  prophecy.  The  wheel  of  the  north 
transept,  the  gift  of  the  good  Saint  Louis  IX., 
and  called  for  him  the  Rose  of  France,  depicts 
the  glorification  of  the  Virgin,  bearing  in  her  arms 
her  glorious  Son.  It  rests  on  five  great  pointed 
windows,  the  central  panal  representing  St.  Anne 
with  the  infant  Virgin;  while  on  the  right  Mel- 
chisedec  and  Aaron,  types  of  Our  Lord's  priest- 
hood; on  the  left  David  and  Solomon,  types  also 
of  His  royal  lineage.  The  south  rose,  given  by  a 
Count  of  Dreux,  denotes  the  glorification  of  the 
Saviour,  and  in  like  manner  it  crowns  the  five 
windows  just  beneath.  The  Infant  Saviour  in 
His  Mother's  arms,  the  central  panal,  is  flanked 
by  four  great  Prophets  bearing  the  four  Evange- 


CHARTRES  209 

lists  upon  their  shoulders,  thus  symbolising  the 
support  the  New  Law  received  from  the  Old. 
Then  in  the  western  rose  the  story  of  that  dread 
Last  Judgment  is  written  past  all  forgetting  in 
the  jeweled  fragments  welded  together  by  the 
dark  lines  of  lead,  while  just  below  are  three 
splendid  windows  more,  dating  a  century  earlier 
than  the  rest.  One,  the  "Jesse  Window,"  justly 
famed;  the  second  telling  the  story  of  Our 
Lord's  life,  as  the  third  ends  the  tale  with  those 
scenes  of  His  Passion  and  His  Death.  Above  ap- 
pears the  resplendent  figure  of  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
known  as  "Notre  Dame  de  la  Verriere."  The  apse 
is  lighted  also  by  seven  great  windows,  crowded 
with  figures  of  prophets,  apostles  and  saints,  en- 
folded in  a  cloud  of  scenes  from  Holy  Writ  and 
from  the  Golden  Legend  also. 

Chartres  was  ever  a  place  of  pilgrimage,  and 
to  its  shrine  popes,  kings  and  commoners  alike 
made  pilgrimage  together.  Among  them  good 
King  Philip  Augustus  and  Queen  Isabella  of 
Hainault  came,  in  suppliant  intercession  that  to 
them  might  be  given  an  heir.  "Whereupon,"  says 
William  le  Breton,  "even  as  the  Queen  was  mak- 
ing her  prayer,  the  candles  upon  the  high  altar 
suddenly  lighted  of  themselves,  as  if  in  token 
that  her  request  was  granted,  and  which  accord- 


210  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

ingly  came  to  pass."  In  the  years  of  those 
French  and  English  wars  when  Edward  III. 
pressed  sore  upon  his  cousin  France,  King  John 
himself  a  prisoner,  Edward  laid  siege  to  Char- 
tres,  despite  the  pleadings  of  the  Dauphin  and 
the  demands  of  the  Pope's  Legate  for  peace. 
Froissart  tells  us  that  there  "befell  to  the  King 
of  England  and  all  his  men  a  great  miracle:  A 
storm  of  thunder  so  great  and  horrible  came  down 
from  heaven  upon  the  English  host  that  it  seemed 
as  if  the  end  of  the  world  were  come,  for  there 
fell  down  stones  so  great  that  they  killed  men 
and  horses,  and  so  that  the  boldest  trembled." 
Edward  thus  rebuked  by  heaven,  vowed  humbly 
to  Our  Lady  of  Chartres  that  if  the  storm  would 
cease  he  would  grant  terms  of  peace,  provided 
they  maintained  him  honourably.  Thus  in  pil- 
grim's garb,  not  as  a  warrior,  he  entered  within 
the  walls  to  do  penance  at  Our  Lady's  shrine. 
Here  too,  before  the  high  altar,  amid  the  gay, 
bedizened  throng  of  courtly  France,  King  Henry 
of  Navarre  was  crowned,  choosing  this  special 
sanctuary  of  Our  Lady  rather  than  Rheims,  the 
crowning  place  of  France's  kings  from  Clovis 
down,  in  token  of  his  more  complete  conversion. 
"Thus,"  observed  Abbe  Hamson,  cure  of  St.  Sul- 
pice,  "Protestantism,  which  had  flattered  itself 


CHARTRES  211 

with  the  hope  of  mounting  the  Throne  of  France, 
was  broken  at  the  feet  of  Our  Lady  of  Chartres, 
where,  also  paganism  had  expired  before  it  in  the 
defeat  and  subsequent  conversion  of  Rollo." 

Within  the  treasury  of  the  cathedral,  the  sac- 
ristan will  show  you  the  fragments  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin's  veil,  authentic  past  all  doubt,  or  so  it 
would  seem,  presented  to  the  Emperor  Charle- 
magne by  the  Empress  Irene,  and  preserved  in  a 
great  chest  of  cedarwood  and  gold,  which  after 
centuries,  crumbling,  all  worm-eaten  to  dust,  was 
opened  by  the  Bishop,  Monseigneur  de  Merin- 
ville,  revealed  thus  for  the  first  time,  enveloped  in 
a  kind  of  gauze,  embroidered  in  silk  and  gold,  the 
veil  of  great  length,  woven  of  linen  and  silk 
thread.  Replaced  in  a  new  coffer  of  beaten  sil- 
ver, it  remained  untouched  and  undisturbed  until 
fingered  by  the  ruthless  revolutionary  mob,  and 
carried  off  by  them  to  Paris,  where  fate  preserved 
it  in  a  museum  until  the  Reign  of  Terror  had  had 
its  day.  Then  did  certain  pious  persons,  obtain- 
ing possession  of  it,  rend  it  into  several  portions 
that  more  than  one  church  might  benefit  thereof, 
its  scattered  fragments  to  be  collected  later  by 
Monseigneur  de  Lubersac,  who  returned  them  to 
their  place  in  the  cathedral.  Of  it  the  poet 
Maitre  Nicholas  Gilles  has  written : 


212  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

"Lois  prinent  la  Sainte  chemise 
A  la  Mere  Dex  qui  fuit  prise 
Jadis  dans  Constantinople 
Precieux  don  en  fit  it  noble 
A  Chartres  un  grand  Roi  de  France, 
Charles  le  Chauve  ob  nom  d'enfance, 
Cil  roy  a  Chartres  le  donna." 

So,  then,  we  find  at  Chartres  a  glory  all  her 
own.  Founded  on  Druid  belief  in  Eastern  proph- 
ecy, her  stone  work  and  her  glass  are  tinged  by 
Byzantine  type  and  colour,  her  great  heart  en- 
shrining an  Eastern  woman's  veil, — Our 
Lady's, — under  whose  benediction  she  does  rest. 
Her  message  from  the  East,  striking  directly  and 
with  telling  force,  is  writ  high  where  all  may 
read,  upon  her  sculptured  portals,  and  flickering 
in  the  prismic  lights  upon  her  walls  and  massive 
pillars,  her  vaulted  roof  and  hollowed  maze- 
scrolled  pavement,  the  Golden  Legend  set  deep 
in  jeweled  wheels  of  coloured  flame. 


XI 

FOUR  HILL-TOWNS  OF  TOURAINE 
I.    CHINON 

AS  Amboise  and  Blois  typify  the  luxurious 
period  of  Renaissance  of  royal  France,  so 
Chinon  is  essentially  representative  of  that  sterner 
feudal  period  when  France  was  rent  by  factional 
wars,  when  might  was  right  and  ruled  with  gaunt- 
leted  hand  the  down-trodden  peasant  serfs  and 
vassals  of  that  fair,  green-swarded  country.  Even 
its  position  is  feudal ;  for  it  is  impregnable,  domi- 
nating as  it  does  three  valleys,  the  Loire,  the 
Indre  and  the  Vienne,  its  grey  lean  flanks  stretch- 
ing along  the  narrow  precipitous  ridge.  Upon 
those  craggy  heights  one  may  gather  still  the  yel- 
low broom,  insignia  of  that  sturdy  race  of  Plan- 
tagenet,  a  race  that  has  left  its  hall-mark  upon 
those  scarred  and  battered  walls, — a  bit  of  Eng- 
land dwelling  within  the  very  heart  of  France. 
Once  the  site  of  a  Roman  fortress,  Chinon  dates 
back  to  the  time  of  the  Visigoths  who  wrested  it 
213 


214  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

from  the  Romans  in  463.  Besieged  by  the  Ro- 
mans, the  citadel  was  almost  lost  to  the  Visigoths 
when  the  Roman  general  ^Egidius  succeeded  in 
cutting  off  the  water  supply.  The  citadel  was 
saved,  however,  by  the  founder  of  the  town,  St. 
Mesme,  a  disciple  of  St.  Martin,  who  with  his 
monks  and  the  citizens  had  taken  refuge  within 
the  castle  walls.  St.  Mesme's  prayers  for  rain 
were  answered,  and  the  cisterns  being  once  more 
filled  with  water,  the  besieged  were  enabled  to 
hold  out  against  the  enemy,  forcing  the  Romans 
at  last  to  raise  the  siege.  Chinon  was  held  by  the 
Visigoths  until  the  fall  of  their  leader  Alaric  in 
481  when  it  came  into  the  possession  of  the  con- 
quering Clovis,  becoming  thus  a  royal  fortress 
which  it  continued  to  be  until  923.  From  964- 
1044  Chinon  belonged  to  the  fierce  counts  of  Blois, 
and  the  three  chateaux  crowning  the  ridge  were 
originally  built  by  one  of  them,  Thibaud  le  Tri- 
cheur.  Of  his  work,  all  that  remains  to-day  is 
part  of  the  Tour  du  Moulin  and  the  adjoining 
curtain  wall  known  as  the  Chateau  de  Coudray 
which  rises  at  the  western  end  of  the  plateau.  The 
ruins  of  the  other  two  chateaux  are  of  later  work ; 
one,  the  square  stalwart  Fort  St.  Georges  built 
by  the  English  Henry  II.,  and  the  Chateau  du 
Milieu  built  upon  the  actual  foundations  of  the 


CHINON  215 

Roman  fortress  by  the  same  Henry,  and  later  en- 
larged and  improved  by  Charles  VII.  of  France. 

The  town  is  very  ancient,  and  in  the  fifth  cen- 
tury was  deemed  a  city  and  a  mart  of  commerce. 
Despite  its  great  fairs,  there  is  to-day  scarce  an 
echo  of  its  former  importance.  Its  shaded  streets 
are  silent,  and  its  moss-grown  houses  huddling 
about  the  chateau-capped  ridge,  or  bordering  the 
gold-blue  waters  of  the  Vienne,  lie  dreaming  in 
the  quiet  hum  of  midsummer  of  past  glories  and 
achievements, — sure  foundations  upon  which  they 
might  safely  rest  until  the  country's  need  should 
once  more  call  the  people  to  action.  It  is  in  these 
remote  little  towns  of  the  past,  perhaps,  that  one 
realises  best  the  value  of  a  past  inheritance;  for 
is  it  not  the  past  that  awakens  people  to  action 
when  the  present  calls?  Yesterday  the  hum  of 
life  went  on  undisturbed,  the  people  contented  in 
their  own  narrow  environment,  unconcerned  about 
the  outside  world  and  its  affairs.  To-day  those 
towns  are  empty  of  men;  those  same  people  re- 
awakened, are  taking  their  part  in  a  world  strug- 
gling for  existence,  for  the  ideals  of  liberty,  fra- 
ternity and  equality  that  is  the  soul  of  France. 

When  Alain,  Count  of  Nantes,  brother-in-law 
of  Thibaud  le  Tricheur  was  dying,  he  confided  his 
young  son  to  the  care  of  this  treacherous  Count 


216  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

of  Blois.  Thibaud  immediately  seized  half  his 
nephew's  estates,  and  forced  his  sister,  the  boy's 
mother,  into  a  marriage  with  Foulques  le  Bon, 
second  Count  of  Anjou,  an  act  that  proved  the 
first  seed  sown  to  his  own  destruction;  for  Foul- 
ques le  Bon's  grandson  and  great-grandson,  Foul- 
ques Nerra  and  Geoffrey  Martel,  finally  wrested 
Chinon  from  the  counts  of  Blois,  descendants  of 
that  same  Thibaud  le  Tricheur,  in  1044.  So 
Chinon  came  into  the  possession  of  the  counts  of 
Anjou  and  subsequently  of  Henry  Plantagenet, 
King  of  England  who  built  the  Fort  St.  Georges 
and  the  great  entrance  gate  to  the  Chateau  du 
Milieu.  Henry  spent  much  of  his  time  at  Chinon, 
and  finally  died  there  in  1189  a  lonely  old  man, 
deserted  by  all  but  his  eldest  son  Geoffrey.  Henry 
also  built  within  the  castle  walls  the  church  of 
St.  Melaine  which  in  its  architecture  bore  the 
imprint  of  its  English  builder.  In  tracing  the 
history  of  the  counts  of  Anjou  in  their  connection 
with  Chinon,  it  is  curious  to  see  how  in  a  way 
history  repeats  itself.  As  Thibaud  filched  the 
revenues  from  his  nephew's  estates  to  build  Chi- 
non, Blois  and  Chambord,  so  the  brother  of  Geof- 
frey of  Anjou  usurped  his  lands,  imprisoning 
Geoffrey  in  the  Tour  de  Tresor.  As  an  old  man 
Geoffrey  was  freed  through  the  intervention  of 


CHINON  217 

Pope  Urban  II.,  who  won  the  co-operation  of 
Foulques  le  Jeune,  son  of  the  usurping  duke,  re- 
vealing thus  a  nobler  strain  in  these  Angevin 
counts  than  in  the  counts  of  Blois. 

The  approach  to  this  feudal  stronghold  is  by 
a  rocky  road  that  winds  up  from  the  Place  Jeanne 
d'Arc.  So  abrupt  is  the  ascent,  that  the  road  soon 
dominates  the  narrow  fringe  of  the  town  with  its 
tortuous  little  streets,  and  comes  abreast  of  the 
sheer  sides  of  the  ridge  which  are  covered  with 
vineyards  and  tiny  gardens  scooped  out  of  the 
rocky  soil.  On  the  right  rises  the  square  bulk  of 
the  Fort  St.  Georges,  a  vast  ruin  now  save  for 
the  crumbling  outer  walls  which  still  proclaim  its 
mediaeval  giant  strength.  Thus  by  a  narrow 
winding  way  the  road  leads  to  the  great  entrance 
gate,  the  Tour  de  1'Horloge,  reached  by  means 
of  the  moss-grown  bridge  spanning  the  moat. 
There  is  a  stern  majesty  about  this  rugged  gate- 
way, reflectant  of  the  feudal  days  that  gave  it 
birth,  the  entrance  gate  truly  to  those  days  of 
Renaissance  which  have  their  beginnings  in  the 
Chateau  du  Milieu  with  its  Grand  Logis  of 
Charles  VII.  Within  the  walls  all  is  ruin  and 
decay,  a  wilderness  of  idle  heaps  of  stone  about 
which  wild  flowers  have  grown  up  and  blossomed, 


218  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

giving  the  effect  of  a  neglected  garden  ashimmer 
in  the  June  sunshine. 

Of  three  great  events  that  happened  at  Chinon, 
one  stands  out  in  bold  relief,  holding  one's  inter- 
est above  all  others, — the  coming  of  Jeanne  d'Arc 
and  her  meeting  with  Charles  VII.,  an  event  that 
marked  a  turning  point  in  the  history  of  France; 
for  through  Jeanne  d'Arc  and  her  influence  there 
was  born  the  spirit  of  nationalism  that  was  to 
weld  France  into  a  mighty  and  united  kingdom, 
the  spirit  that  to-day  makes  France  great,  its 
people  of  but  one  mind  and  heart.  Perhaps,  too, 
the  first  awakening  of  this  spirit  was  partly  due 
to  English  occupation ;  for  Normandy  was  in  fact 
the  rude  cradle  of  this  latter  day  nationalism,  the 
Norman  castle  being  the  rallying  place  for  the 
protection  of  the  people,  and  not  merely,  as  in 
the  French  castles,  the  robber  stronghold  of  some 
marauding  baron. 

A  path  leads  from  the  gateway  to  the  gabled 
end  of  the  Grand  Logis,  the  skeleton  of  what  was 
once  a  two  storied  building,  its  grey  walls  rising 
from  the  white  clover-dotted  sward.  On  the 
western  wall  are  the  remains  of  two  fireplaces,  one 
above  the  other.  The  fireplace  on  the  second  floor 
was  the  fireplace  of  the  Grand  Salle  where  Jeanne 
d'Arc  in  1428  hailed  the  Dauphin,  Charles  VII., 


CHINON  219 

as  king  of  France,  singling  him  out  from  among 
the  large  and  resplendant  company.  One  can  pic- 
ture the  scene,  the  great  hall  alight  with  torches, 
its  length  and  breadth  guarded  with  men-at-arms ; 
the  throng  of  courtiers,  the  king  in  black  standing 
in  their  midst,  the  most  insignificant,  perhaps,  of 
all  that  jeweled  and  bedizened  group;  the  en- 
trance of  the  Maid,  accompanied  by  those  two 
faithful  knights  who  had  attended  her  on  the 
long  journey  from  Lorraine,  the  Maid  facing  that 
half  hostile,  half  scoffing  throng,  unperturbed,  her 
face  aglow  with  faith  in  the  divinity  of  her  mis- 
sion; her  swift  recognition  of  the  king,  refusing 
to  be  put  off  when  the  king  denied  his  kingship, 
but  kneeling  before  him  and  proclaiming  him  the 
true  and  lawful  king  of  France,  and  giving  him 
the  promise  that  she  would  raise  the  siege  of  Or- 
leans and  see  him  crowned  at  Rheims;  winning 
the  king  at  last  by  giving  him  complete  assur- 
ance that  he  was  the  true  son  of  Charles  VI.  and 
not  the  bastard  that  he  feared.  In  triumph 
Jeanne  left  the  hall,  passing  between  the  bow- 
ing line  of  courtiers  to  be  lodged  as  an  honoured 
guest  in  the  donjon,  a  noble  tower  rising  beside 
the  moat,  and  where  close  by  a  few  stones  mark 
the  site  of  the  chapel  where  she  used  to  pray. 
On  the  left  of  the  entrance  of  this  donjon  are 


220  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

some  carvings  attributed  to  the  Knights  Temp- 
lars who  were  imprisoned  here  in  1307  by  order 
of  Philippe  le  Bel,  who  wishing  to  avail  himself 
of  the  funds  belonging  to  the  Order,  dramatically 
suppressed  it  by  having  every  Templar  in  the 
kingdom  arrested  at  the  same  moment.  Jacques 
de  Morlay,  Grand  Master  of  the  Knights  Tem- 
plars, and  a  number  of  others  were  finally  sent 
to  Paris  in  1312,  where  they  were  burned  at  the 
stake.  This  second  of  the  three  events  especially 
touched  on,  occurred  about  one  hundred  years 
after  Philip  Augustus  had  won  back  Chinon  after 
a  long  siege,  making  it  once  more  a  crown  pos- 
session, which  it  was  afterwards  destined  to  re- 
main. 

In  the  same  Grand  Salle  where  Charles  VII. 
received  Jeanne  d'Arc,  another  scene  of  a  very  dif- 
ferent sort  took  place  some  few  years  later.  The 
Dauphin,  afterwards  Louis  XL,  entering  the  room 
one  day,  booted  and  spurred,  took  occasion  to  pub- 
licly flout  the  mistress  of  the  king,  the  beautiful 
Agnes  Sorel.  She  was  standing  by  the  fireplace 
a  little  apart  from  the  other  ladies-in-waiting 
when  he  entered,  and  the  Dauphin,  striding  across 
to  where  she  stood,  struck  her  full  in  the  face 
with  his  riding  glove.  For  this  brutal  act  he  was 
for  a  long  time  banished  from  court.  Tradition 


CHINON 

has  it  that  Charles  VII.  built  a  house  in  the  near- 
by Park  Roberdeau  for  his  beautiful  mistress,  but 
to-day  no  trace  of  it  remains.  After  Charles  VII.'s 
death,  his  son  Louis  XI.  gave  Chinon  to  his 
mother,  Marie  of  Anjou,  and  in  1473  Philippe  de 
Comines,  the  governor  of  the  chateau,  was  mar- 
ried there  to  a  "noble  demoiselle  de  Chambres." 
He  also  built  the  beautiful  church  of  St.  Etienne 
which  is  still  standing,  and  upon  the  keystone  of 
its  entrance  arch  is  carved  his  coat  of  arms. 

In  1498  the  third  and  last  great  event  took 
place  at  Chinon  when  Csesar  Borgia,  the  papal 
envoy,  was  received  in  regal  state,  bringing  with 
him  the  Pope's  pledge  to  annul  Louis  XII.'s  mar- 
riage with  Jeanne  of  France  in  order  that  the 
king  might  marry  Anne  of  Brittany,  widow  of 
Charles  VIII.  One  can  in  fancy  see  Rabelais  in 
this  his  native  town,  a  tiny  lad  crowding  with  the 
other  gamin  to  watch  Csesar  Borgia's  entry,  which 
surpassed  in  f  magnificence  the  triumphs  of  the 
emperors  of  Rome.  As  the  Pope's  envoy  came 
laden  with  rich  gifts,  so  did  he  depart,  his  great- 
est treasure  the  beautiful  Jeanne  d'Albret  whom 
he  promptly  poisoned  by  sending  her  from  Rome 
superb  tapestried  bed  hangings  carefully  soaked  in 
arsenic,  a  subtle  poison  from  which  she  gradually 
sickened  and  died. 


222  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

After  the  fifteenth  century,  nothing  of  im- 
portance occured  at  Chinon.  It  was  given  to 
Richelieu,  but  he  seldom  used  it.  In  1626  a  de- 
cree was  issued  ordering  the  demolition  of  all  the 
castles  of  the  interior  of  France,  but  it  was  never 
carried  into  effect,  time  alone  with  gentle  hand 
obeying  the  royal  command. 

Chinon's  keynote,  then,  is  rugged  strength  and 
simplicity  rather  than  luxury  and  beauty;  sturdy 
character  and  not  perfection  of  form.  Feudal  it 
is  in  spirit,  feudal  even  in  its  position;  for  it 
dominates  three  valleys,  and  at  its  feet  glide 
swiftly  by  the  sparkling  waters  of  the  Vienne. 
From  the  Tour  du  Moulin  of  Thibaud  le  Tricheur 
one  gets  a  wonderful  sweep  of  this  fair  green 
country  rolling  away  to  the  south  and  east,  a  fer- 
tile land  full  of  peace  tuned  to  the  drone  of 
bees  and  the  sweet  songs  of  birds  that  find  shelter 
on  this  desolate  height  within  its  tangled  garden 
of  wild  flowers  and  grey  crumbling  heaps  of  stone. 
Here  in  the  silence  at  the  sunset  hour  the  mighty 
past  passes  pageant-like  across  those  scarred 
heights,  leaving  many  a  tapestried  picture,  with 
none  more  vivid  than  the  meeting  between 
Charles  VII.  and  the  Maid  of  France,  Jeanne 
d'Arc ;  for  in  that  moment  a  new  France  was  born, 
the  spirit  of  nationalism  that  was  to  rise  up  and 


CHINON  223 

be  the  very  soul  of  France.  The  past  is  the  ear- 
nest for  the  present;  it  lives  in  the  soul  of  the 
future  yet  unborn.  And  these  people  living  to-day 
within  the  shadow  of  Chinon's  century-stained 
walls,  and  seemingly  sunk  in  a  lethargy  of  dreams, 
have  in  very  truth  once  more  risen  at  the  call  of 
France. 


II.    AMBOISE 

THE  hall-mark  of  a  race  is  stamped  upon 
the  homes  of  its  people;  and  so  about  the 
royal  chateaux  of  Touraine,  one  can  find  the  key- 
note to  the  France  of  yesterday  and  of  to-day. 
At  Chinon,  one  sees  the  sterner  side  of  that  life 
of  feudal  France  with  its  warring  factions  both 
internal  and  external.  Amboise  and  Blois,  on  the 
contrary,  represent  that  luxurious  golden  after- 
math when  kings  of  France  held  absolute  power; 
when  luxury,  pleasure  and  the  dance  filled  their 
days  rather  than  the  duties  of  kingship ;  when  the 
cries  of  a  people  oppressed  were  drowned  by  the 
gay  laughter  of  courtiers  and  court  ladies,  and  by 
the  clink  of  golden  goblets. 

Of  this  age  of  luxury  and  splendour,  Amboise  is 
the  most  perfect  expression.  All  the  daring 
beauty  and  lofty  aspiration,  all  the  delicacy  and 
intricacy  of  that  marvellous  Age  of  Renaissance 
is  stamped  upon  its  crenellated  walls  and  towers; 
while  about  it  cling  memories  of  black  deeds,  cru- 
elties marking  in  strange  contrast  this  bright  age 
of  beauty  and  culture,  as  the  dark  lead  outlines 
224 


,1 


f.  Amboise:  Interior  of  St  Hubert's  Chapel. 


225 


226  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

the  glories  of  the  stained  glass  image  of  some 
saint. 

As  it  is  lofty  in  design,  so  it  is  lofty  in  position, 
rising  upon  the  vast  pedestal  of  rock  above  the 
golden  waters  of  the  Loire,  while  about  it  are 
clustered  the  red-tiled  houses  as  if  seeking  pro- 
tection within  the  shadow  of  that  pinnacled 
stronghold.  Through  the  crooked,  narrow  streets 
of  this  tiny  hill-town,  one  wends  one's  way  up 
from  the  river  to  the  chateau,  a  circuitous  route 
that  leads  one  to  an  arched  gateway.  Here  one 
ascends  by  a  vaulted  passage  way  cut  through  the 
oldest  part  of  the  pile,  the  remains  of  the  feu- 
dal fortress  of  the  counts  of  Anjou,  to  the  court- 
yard of  the  chateau,  now  a  terraced  garden  colour- 
flecked  with  flowers.  On  the  western  edge  of 
this  garden  stands  the  fifteenth  century  Gothic 
chapel  of  St.  Hubert  which  is  the  architectural 
gem  of  the  whole  chateau,  and  is  wholly  French 
in  design  and  workmanship  having  been  built  by 
Charles  VIII.  before  his  campaigns  in  Italy.  It 
is  an  exquisite  flower  of  the  Renaissance,  and 
was  restored  by  Louis  Philippe  to  its  pristine 
freshness  and  beauty.  Above  the  chapel  door- 
way are  the  wonderful  sculptured  bas-reliefs  rep- 
resenting the  miraculous  hunt  of  St.  Hubert,  the 
figure  of  the  saint  portrayed  with  the  familiar 


Amboise. 
Doorway^  St. Hubert's  Chape! 


227 


228  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

stag.  Other  panels  picture  scenes  from  the  life 
of  the  saint  including  his  conversion.  Within  the 
chapel,  which  is  also  rich  in  carved  finials  and 
copings,  is  the  tomb  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci  who 
died  at  the  chateau  in  1519  whither  he  had  come 
at  the  bidding  of  Francis  I. 

The  lofty  walls  and  ramparts  of  the  chateau 
are  flanked  by  three  massive  round  towers,  one  of 
which,  the  Tour  Minimes  on  the  northern  side,  is 
a  veritable  fortress  in  itself.  It  is  of  such  giant 
proportions  as  to  admit  within  its  walls  an  incline 
plane  that  winds  up  from  its  base  to  its  summit, 
and  is  wide  enough  for  a  coach  and  four.  The 
ancient  apartments  are  cut  up  into  small  modern 
rooms  for  the  use  of  old  retainers  of  the  Orleans 
family  to  whom  since  1872  the  chateau  has  be- 
longed. The  gardens  perched  so  high  above  the 
river  and  covering  the  irregular  spaces  of  the 
plateau  of  rock  on  which  the  castle  stands,  are 
picturesque  if  not  extensive,  and  from  them  one 
gets  wonderful  broad  vistas  of  sky  and  river  and 
distant  wooded  hills, — a  marvellous  setting  for 
that  complicated  mass  of  bastions  and  high-set 
windows,  of  balconies  and  crenellated  walls. 
One  of  the  terraces  planted  with  clipped  limes 
lies  within  the  shadow  of  the  big  tower,  and  here 
tradition  points  to  a  low  doorway  embedded  in 


AMBOISE  229 

the  thick  wall  at  the  far  end  where  Charles  VIII. 
struck  his  head  against  the  lintel  dying  from  the 
blow.  Much  of  Charles  VIII.'s  short,  unhappy 
life  was  spent  at  Amboise,  the  scene  of  his  birth 
as  well  as  of  his  death.  It  was  at  Amboise  that 
his  widow,  Anne  of  Brittany,  already  stricken  by 
the  loss  of  her  three  children,  spent  the  period 
of  mourning  for  her  royal  husband ;  and  there  too 
she  was  wooed  and  won  by  her  former  lover,  the 
handsome  Louis  XIL,  cousin  and  successor  of 
Charles  VIII. 

Standing  by  the  low,  moss-grown  parapet,  and 
looking  down  upon  the  wide  expanse  of  green 
fields  and  meadow  lands  flooded  with  the  sunset 
light,  the  golden  Loire  winding  its  tortuous  way 
toward  the  sea,  a  cloud  of  images  flashes  up,  im- 
ages that  reach  back  to  the  fourth  century  when 
Amboise,  then  Ambatia,  was  under  Roman  domi- 
nation, and  a  "pagan  pyramidal  temple"  stood 
upon  the  cliff  where  this  present  Renaissance 
chateau  now  stands.  In  this  far-off  epoch  of 
Roman  occupation,  St.  Martin  of  Tours  overthrew 
the  pagan  temple  and  its  worship,  introducing 
Christianity.  At  the  end  of  the  fifth  century,  496, 
Clovis  and  Alaric  the  Goth  met  on  the  Isle  de 
St.  Jean,  "where  the  two  kings,"  so  says  Gregory 
of  Tours,  "conversed,  ate,  drank  together  and 


230  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

separated  with  promises  of  friendship."  This 
meeting  of  Clovis  and  Alaric  marked  a  period  in 
the  history  of  France,  and  not  long  afterwards  a 
fortified  chateau  rose  upon  the  ruins  of  the  pagan 
temple.  In  the  ninth  century,  Louis  le  Begue 
gave  Amboise  to  the  counts  of  Anjou.  Later  it 
fell  into  the  hands  of  the  counts  of  Berry.  Dur- 
ing the  reign  of  Charles  VII. ,  it  again  became  a 
royal  possession,  Charles  VII.  wresting  it  from 
Louis  d' Amboise  because  of  Louis'  attempt  to 
rid  the  court  of  Charles  VII's  favourite,  the  evil 
Georges  de  la  Tremoille.  Charles  VIII.,  who  was 
born  and  died  at  Amboise,  and  who  was  influenced 
by  his  sojourn  in  Italy  occasioned  by  his  cam- 
paigns, added  many  of  the  Renaissance  details. 
The  wonder  and  the  beauty  of  Italian  art  aroused 
in  the  young  king  a  great  craving  for  culture, 
learning  and  a  knowledge  of  art  which  his 
father's  craven  fear  had  denied  him  for  Louis 
XI.  was  so  fearful  of  having  his  power  wrested 
from  him  by  his  young  son,  that  the  boy  grew  up 
half  educated.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that 
Charles  was  carried  away  by  the  magnificence  of 
the  Italian  courts  and  desired  to  transplant  to 
France  this  new  world  of  beauty  he  had  found. 
The  first  orange  trees  in  France  were  planted  in 
the  gardens  of  Ambroise  by  his  Italian  gardener, 


AMBOISE  231 

Passelo  da  Mercogliano.  Amboise  was  assigned 
by  Louis  XII.  to  Louise  of  Savoy  and  her  son, 
the  young  Duke  of  Angouleme,  afterwards 
Francis  I.  It  was  to  this  time  that  the  court  made 
Blois  its  chief  seat  of  residence,  the  new  wing  of 
Louis  XII.  having  been  completed.  Amboise  was 
the  early  home  of  Louis  XII.,  and  here  in  later 
years  this  handsome  cavalier  wooed  the  widowed 
Queen,  Anne  of  Brittany.  In  1499  Louis  and  his 
bride  made  their  state  entry  into  Amboise,  an  oc- 
casion of  great  magnificence,  arranged  with  all  the 
artistry  of  that  pageant-loving  age. 

Francis  I.,  the  great  lover  of  the  Renaissance, 
who  did  so  much  for  France  architecturally,  who 
gathered  at  his  court  the  greatest  artists  of  his 
time, — Leonardo  da  Vinci,  Jean  Goujon,  Andrea 
del  Sarto, — left  the  impress  of  his  artistic  instinct 
upon  the  walls  of  Amboise.  With  him  we  see  the 
flood-tide  of  Italian  influence  and  culture  that  in- 
undated France,  following  the  success  of  the 
French  arms  in  Italy,  and  bringing  with  it  also 
the  miasma  of  Medician  cruelty  and  intrigue 
when  later  two  of  the  Medici  were  crowned  queens 
of  France;  Catherine  in  particular  using  her 
power  in  ways  that  left  many  a  bloodstained 
page  in  the  fair  history  of  France.  The  state 
entry  of  Louis  XII.  and  his  Queen  into  Amboise 


232  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

was  only  excelled  in  magnificence  by  Francis  I., 
when  in  1539  he  received  the  Emperor  Charles 
V.  there  with  a  pomp  and  lavish  display  reminis- 
cent of  the  days  of  imperial  Rome.  The  great 
Heurtault  tower  was  hung  from  foot  to  summit 
with  rich  tapestries,  and  lighted  by  countless 
torches  that  made  the  night  seem  bright  as  mid- 
day. 

Somehow  one  associates  the  fair  Mary  Stuart 
and  her  handsome  young  husband,  Francis  II., 
with  Chenonceaux,  the  exquisite  Renaissance 
chateau  spanning  the  Cher,  rather  than  with  Am- 
boise.  Chenonceaux,  all  beauty  and  sunshine, 
possesses  no  trace  of  the  ominousness,  the  dark, 
insidious  cruelty  that  impregnates  the  turreted 
walls  of  Amboise.  One  thinks  of  Francis  II. 
and  his  young  Queen  in  the  first  flush  of  their  hap- 
piness, treading  the  gardens  by  the  Cher  arm  in 
arm,  flitting  like  gay  butterflies  from  flower  to 
flower.  Yet  their  happiness  was  briefer  than  a 
summer's  day;  for  to  Amboise  they  fled  to  escape 
capture  by  the  Huguenots.  Here  in  the  height  of 
her  power,  Catherine  swayed  the  destinies  of 
France,  caring  for  nothing  but  the  accomplishment 
of  her  intrigues  and  ambitions.  It  was  at  Am- 
boise that  Mary  Stuart  received  her  first  lessons 
in  the  finesse  of  Italian  cruelty  and  intrigue,  of 


AMBOISE  233 

fanaticism  and  excess.  History  pictures  her 
standing  beside  the  Queen  mother  on  the  south- 
ern terrace,  watching  the  execution  of  Renaudie 
and  the  other  Huguenot  conspirators.  Later, 
looking  down  from  the  well-named  gibbet-balcony 
of  the  Salles  des  Arms,  where  grinned  the  sus- 
pended heads  of  those  same  unfortunate  prison- 
ers, she  saw  the  noyades  of  the  captured  Hugue- 
nots in  the  Loire, — blood-curdling  scenes  destined 
to  play  havoc  with  the  vivid  imagination  of  this 
beautiful  young  Queen,  the  foundation  really  of 
her  fateful  life. 

Louis  XV.  gave  Amboise  to  the  Due  de  Choi- 
seul.  Confiscated  at  the  time  of  the  Revolution, 
the  chateau  was  given  back  to  the  Orleans  family 
in  1872  by  the  National  Assembly,  and  it  is  now 
used  as  a  house  of  retreat  for  military  veterans, 
and  for  old  retainers  of  the  House  of  Orleans, — 
that  dying  remnant  of  royal  France. 

In  the  golden  glow  of  a  summer  afternoon, 
these  mediaeval  horrors  vanish,  are  lost  in  the 
mystic  light  of  sunset.  Standing  upon  those  ter- 
raced heights  that  overlook  the  golden  river  wind- 
ing amid  the  shimmering  green  of  meadows  and 
of  pasture  land,  only  the  fair  beauty  of  that  mar- 
vellous Age  of  Renaissance  with  its  culture  and 
its  artistic  triumphs  remains.  Those  darker  pages 


234  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

are  blotted  out  in  the  dazzling  brightness  envelop- 
ing the  age  of  Francis  I.  Drowned  in  sunshine, 
Ambroise  crowns  the  heights  above  the  shining 
river  aglow  with  the  wonder,  aspiration  and 
beauty  of  the  age  that  gave  it  birth.  Scarred  and 
weather-beaten  it  is,  yet  mellowed  by  the  cen- 
turies that  have  swept  over  it.  Its  founders,  its 
creators,  the  great  men  and  women  who  inhabited 
its  walls,  are  gone;  but  Amboise  remains,  a  noble 
monument  marking  the  flood-tide  of  the  Renais- 
sance, the  Renaissance  that  is  French  in  spirit  and 
untouched  by  the  Italian  influence  that  a  few 
years  later  inundated  France. 


III.    BLOIS 

AN  atmosphere  of  deep  tragedy  broods  upon 
Blois,  pervading  every  corner  of  it,  and 
overshadowing  still  all  the  brilliance  of  its  past. 
Here  one  finds  the  grandeur,  the  luxurious  beauty 
of  the  Renaissance  without  its  light  gaiety  and 
joyousness.  Thus  does  it  differ  from  Amboise. 

Like  Amboise  and  Chinon,  Blois  dates  from 
Roman  times  and  was  the  site  of  a  Roman  fort- 
ress. It  stands  upon  a  triangular  plateau  high 
above  the  Loire  that  in  ancient  times  washed  the 
base  of  the  cliff  on  the  south  and  east;  while  on 
the  north,  a  small  tributary  of  the  Loire,  the 
Arroux,  long  since  dried  up,  gave  added  strength 
to  the  northern  side  of  the  chateau.  The  western 
side  was  protected  by  a  huge  moat  and  a  massive 
wall.  Some  remains  of  the  towers  guarding  this 
wall  are  embedded  in  the  neighbouring  town 
buildings. 

The  history  of  the  chateau  may  be  divided  into 

three  periods:  the  feudal  period  of  the  counts  of 

Blois;  the  period  of  Louis  XII.,  and  the  period 

of  Francis  I.    The  first  period  is  distinctly  feudal, 

235 


236  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

and  is  associated  with  an  early  count  of  Blois, 
Thibaud  le  Tricheur,  who  built  the  chateau  about 
the  middle  of  the  tenth  century  out  of  revenues 
niched  from  his  young  nephew.  This  early  cha- 
teau was  rebuilt  by  one  of  Thibaud's  de- 
scendants in  the  thirteenth  century,  but  except 
for  the  Grand'  Salle,  called  now  the  Salle  des 
Etats,  and  part  of  the  Tour  du  Moulin  none  of 
these  early  feudal  buildings  remain,  and  Blois  as 
it  stands  to-day  belongs  wholly  to  the  two  later 
periods  of  its  history,  that  of  Louis  XII.  and 
Francis  I. 

The  period  of  Louis  XII.  was  one  of  great 
magnificence.  Louis'  grandfather,  the  first  Or- 
leans Count  of  Blois  who  purchased  the  chateau 
from  the  counts  of  Blois,  was  murdered  in  Paris 
by  order  of  the  Burgundian  Duke,  Jean  sans 
Peur.  This  Duke  of  Orleans'  son,  Charles  the 
"Poet-Prince,"  was  held  a  prisoner  for  many 
years  in  England ;  but  in  spite  of  Henry  V.'s  dying 
injunctions  never  to  free  him,  Charles  finally  was 
released  upon  the  payment  of  an  enormous  ran- 
som. Charles  immediately  returned  to  France 
and  healed  the  feud  existing  between  the 
families  of  Burgundy  and  Orleans  by  marrying 
Mary  of  Cleves,  niece  of  the  reigning  Duke,  Phil- 
ippe le  Bon;  and  in  1462  Louis  XII.  was  born 


f» 

"      K^ 
&- 


BLOIS  237 

at  Blois.  The  chateau  of  to-day  covers  but  half 
of  the  site  of  the  ancient  chateau.  The  other  half 
is  now  a  shady  square  flanked  on  its  western  side 
by  the  Louis  XII.  wing  which  abuts  the  Grand' 
Salle  of  the  counts  of  Blois. 

Although  court  life  began  at  Blois  in  1498,  this 
wing  of  Louis  XII.  was  not  finished  until  1502, 
and  its  completion  was  the  occasion  of  a  reception 
of  great  magnificence  in  honour  of  the  Archduke 
Philip  the  Handsome  of  Spain  and  his  wife  the 
Infanta.  The  French  Queen,  Anne  of  Brittany, 
had  a  great  ambition  to  marry  her  tiny  daughter, 
the  Princess  Claude,  to  the  young  son  of  the  Arch- 
duke Philip,  who  later  was  to  be  the  powerful 
Emperor  Charles  V.  In  spite  of  Louis'  opposition 
to  a  union  obviously  against  the  best  interests  of 
France  because  it  would  in  the  future  place  Brit- 
tany under  the  sovereignty  of  a  foreign  power, 
Anne  for  the  time  carried  her  point,  and  the  ne- 
gotiations were  completed  at  Blois.  The  occasion 
was  somewhat  marred  when  the  little  princess 
shrieked  at  sight  of  her  mother-in-law  to  be,  and 
had  to  be  removed.  Later  Louis  broke  off  this 
match,  marrying  his  daughter  to  the  young  Prince 
of  Angouleme,  afterwards  Francis  I.  This  wing 
of  Louis  XII.  is  built  of  small  black  and  red 
bricks  with  facings  and  window  frames  of  light 


238  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

stone.  Over  the  entrance  gate  is  a  modern  eques- 
trian statue  of  Louis  XII.,  replacing  the  original. 
Everywhere  one  finds  the  entwined  initials  of 
Louis  and  Anne,  the  porcupine  of  Orleans  and  the 
ermine  and  the  cordelier  of  Brittany.  Even  the 
great  fireplaces  which  are  a  noteworthy  feature  of 
Blois,  are  decorated  with  these  emblems  of  the 
royal  pair. 

There  is  no  symmetry  in  the  architecture  of 
Blois.  It  is  an  accumulation  of  three  periods  of 
architecture  represented  by  as  many  wings, — the 
east  wing  of  Louis  XII.  abutting  the  thirteenth 
century  Grand'  Salle;  the  north  wing  of  Francis 
I. ;  and  the  west  wing  of  Gaston  of  Orleans  which 
in  the  seventeenth  century  replaced  the  beautiful 
buildings  of  the  poet-prince,  Charles  of  Orleans. 
The  plan  of  Blois  is  an  irregular  quadrilateral 
with  the  chapel  of  St.  Calais  on  the  south,  the 
three  wings  forming  the  other  three  sides  of  the 
great  courtyard.  One  of  the  windows  in  the 
chapel  represents  the  betrothal  of  Louis  XII.  and 
Anne  of  Brittany. 

The  north  wing  of  Francis  I.,  which  occupies 
the  site  of  the  early  feudal  fortress,  is  the  most 
richly  decorated  and  superb  part  of  the  chateau, 
representative  of  the  sumptuousness  and  colossal 
daring  of  the  age  of  Francis  I.  as  it  is  the  final 


Blois. 


Gate  to  the  Chateau, 


239 


24o  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

expression  of  true  French  Renaissance.  Just  as 
we  find  at  Amboise  in  the  beautiful  chapel  of  St. 
Hubert  a  Renaissance  architecture  wholly  French, 
so  in  this  magnificent  wing  of  Francis  I.,  we  see 
the  rich  beauty  of  its  architecture  untouched  by 
the  ornate  gorgeousness  that  Italian  influence 
brought  in  soon  after,  a  richness  combined  with 
the  fundamental  differences  in  character  of  these 
two  art-giving  and  art-loving  nations.  The  ex- 
terior of  the  fagade  facing  the  Place  Victor  Hugo, 
consists  of  four  stories  richly  decorated  and 
adorned  with  turrets  and  an  open  gallery  at  the 
top.  The  inner  facade  is  even  richer  in  decoration 
than  the  outer,  its  chief  feature  being  the  great 
staircase  which  ascends  within  a  projecting  pen- 
tagonal tower.  There  is  a  theory  that  the  stair- 
case was  designed  by  Leonardo  da  Vinci  while 
he  was  at  Amboise,  taking  for  his  model  the  shell 
of  Voluta  Vespartilio.  The  theory  if  true,  and 
there  seems  no  reason  to  doubt  it,  proves  Leonardo 
a  master  of  construction  as  well  as  a  decorative 
artist  of  the  highest  order.  The  groin  work  re- 
veals the  power  to  combine  perfect  construction 
with  beauty  unexcelled.  "The  stairs  wind  up- 
ward," so  says  an  old  chronicler,  "unfolding 
round  an  exquisite  central  shaft  like  the  petals  of 
a  flower,  and  in  the  very  lines  of  each  step  itself 


i 


Chateau  de  Blois,  Foot  of  Great  Staircase  of  Francis  I. 


Chateau  deBloiS, 
TAtiique. 


241 


242  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

a  strange  and  beautiful  look  of  life  and  growth 
is  produced  by  the  double  curve  on  which  it  is  so 
subtly  planned."  The  carving  is  of  the  finest 
lace  work  in  stone,  the  salamander  of  Francis  I. 
being  frequently  repeated  in  the  design.  On  the 
staircase  there  are  three  statues  of  great  beauty, 
Peace,  Youth,  Friendship,  said  to  be  the  work  of 
Jean  Goujon,  the  man  who  "marks  the  culminat- 
ing point  of  the  French  Renaissance :  in  his  sculp- 
tures the  Greek  feeling  for  distinction  of  style 
and  dignity  in  monumental  decoration  is  reborn 
and  combined  with  a  delicacy,  an  esprit,  a  sympa- 
thetic rendering  of  feminine  elegance  essentially 
French,  together  with  a  poetry,  an  exuberance  of 
joy  in  his  child  figures,  and  a  grace  and  charm 
that  was  wholly  personal."  The  inevitable  deca- 
dence of  art  was  to  follow  that  of  morals, — a  de- 
cadence that  came  in  with  the  Italian  Catherine 
de  Medici  and  the  later  Valois  when  "the  fair 
fruit  of  beauty  had  developed  into  rottenness." 
Francis  I.  entertained  the  Emperor  Charles  V. 
here  with  great  magnificence,  and  as  one  mounts 
that  superb  staircase,  one  can  picture  it  crowded 
with  gorgeously  arrayed  courtiers  and  ladies-in- 
waiting  passing  up  and  down  with  jest  and  laugh- 
ter upon  their  lips,  or,  perchance,  pausing  to  lis- 
ten to  a  minstrel's  singing  a  love  song  from  the 


BLOIS  243 

fair  land  of  Provence.  Henry  III.  was  the  last 
of  the  monarchs  to  spend  much  of  his  time  at 
Blois.  During  his  reign  he  twice  assembled  the 
States-General  there. 

The  interior  of  the  chateau,  though  it  has  been 
restored,  is  bare  of  furniture  which  was  destroyed 
or  carried  off  during  the  lawless  days  of  the 
Revolution.  Even  the  rich  tapestries  that  adorned 
the  walls  in  its  royal  days  have  vanished.  On 
the  first  floor  interest  centres  about  the  apart- 
ments of  Catherine  de  Medici,  the  most  beautiful 
of  the  rooms  where  this  powerful  and  evil 
woman  dwelt  being  her  bedchamber,  where  she 
died  in  1589,  with  its  artistically  carved  beams, 
and  the  study,  its  panelled  walls — two  hundred 
and  fifty  in  all — covered  with  exquisite  carvings 
that  are  all  different,  a  gem  of  the  Renaissance. 
These  apartments  adjoin  the  donjon  or  Tour  des 
Oubliettes  in  which  is  the  dungeon  where  the 
Cardinal  de  Guise,  brother  of  the  Duke  was  con- 
fined and  assassinated.  The  apartments  of  Henry 
III.  are  on  the  second  floor.  The  two  ante-cham- 
bers, as  in  the  apartments  of  the  queen,  contain 
fine  fire-places.  The  king's  bedchamber  was  the 
scene  of  the  assassination  by  Henry's  order  of  the 
Duke  de  Guise,  called  "le  Balafre,"  in  1588,  thus 
ending  the  baleful  influence  of  Catherine  de 


244  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

Medici,  even  though  it  raised  up  more  enemies 
than  friends  for  the  king,  and  in  the  end  was  his 
undoing.  So  dastardly  a  deed  brought  upon  him 
the  disgust  of  his  friends  and  the  implacable 
hatred  of  the  Duke's  powerful  following. 

After  this  time,  Blois  fell  into  disfavour,  roy- 
alty being  unable  to  abide  the  atmosphere  of  trag- 
edy a  king's  cowardly  spilling  of  blood  had  cre- 
ated. From  that  time  on  it  became  more  of  a 
prison  or  place  of  exile  for  those  who  seemed  likely 
to  disturb  the  peace  of  the  court.  Gaston  of  Or- 
leans, brother  of  Louis  XIII.,  was  one  of  these,  and 
the  memory  of  his  enforced  retirement  here  is 
perpetuated  in  stone.  Chaffing  at  the  monotony, 
he  amused  himself  by  tearing  down  the  beautiful 
west  wing  of  his  ancestor  Charles,  the  "Poet- 
Prince"  replacing  it  by  the  classic  horror  of  Man- 
sard, which  represents  the  final  decadent  ebb  of 
the  Renaissance  as  the  wing  of  Francis.  I.  reveals 
the  French  Renaissance  in  the  flood-tide  of  its 
virility  and  beauty.  It  is  a/mercy  that  death  pre- 
vented this  merry,  good-humoured  prince  from 
continuing  his  work  of  vandalism  which  included 
a  rebuilding  of  the  entire  chateau  on  these  pseudo- 
classic  lines.  Before  Gaston  came  into  posses- 
sion of  Blois,  his  mother,  Marie  de  Medici,  was 
virtually  held  a  prisoner  here  by  order  of  her  son 


BLOIS  245 

Louis  XIII.,  who  tired  of  his  mother's  plottings 
and  intrigues  with  her  Italian  minister,  Concini, 
with  whom  she  shared  her  power  as  regent  for 
seven  years,  banished  her  at  last  to  Blois  after 
assassinating  the  wily  Italian.  Louis  was  aided 
and  abetted  in  this  by  his  life-long  friend  the 
Duke  de  Luynes,  who,  loving  France  more  even 
than  he  desired  personal  power,  urged  the  king  to 
take  the  power  into  his  own  hands  and  assert  his 
kingship.  Marie  the  Intrigante,  was  not  long  in 
plotting  her  escape,  winning  over  to  her  cause  the 
Duke  de  Epernon,  who  looked  with  no  loving  eye 
upon  the  growing  power  of  the  Duke  de  Luynes 
and  his  influence  with  the  king. 

The  Salle  des  Etats  is  reached  from  the  apart- 
ments of  Henry  III.  by  a  staircase  at  the  end  of 
the  Louis  XII.  wing.  "Salle  des  Etats"  is  but 
the  modern  name  for  the  ancient  Grand'  Salle  of 
the  counts  of  Blois  which  in  the  Middle  Ages  was 
the  place  where  the  sovereign  assembled  his  vas- 
sals on  the  most  solemn  occasions, — "the  scene  of 
the  entire  public  life  of  the  great  barons."  This 
noble  hall  like  the  donjon  dates  from  the  thir- 
teenth century,  and  is  divided  in  two  by  eight 
columns. 

Both  the  lower  and  the  upper  town  are  ancient, 
and  crowd  about  the  base  of  the  chateau  on  the 


246  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

south  and  east.  The  fine  old  abbey  church  of  St. 
Nicholas  is  close  to  the  chateau  walls,  and  was 
built  by  the  Benedictine  Convent  of  St.  Laumier 
1138-1215.  In  1568  it  was  pillaged  by  the  Cal- 
vinists,  and  was  mutilated  further  at  the  time  of 
the  Revolution  in  1793.  The  beautiful  fagade  is 
flanked  by  two  towers,  and  its  central  doorway 
consists  of  three  ranks  of  arches  adorned  with  some 
very  lovely  carving.  The  cathedral  of  St.  Louis 
belongs  to  the  decadent  age  of  later-day  Gothic, 
and  bears  also  the  imprint  of  the  pseudo-classic 
work  of  Mansard,  architect  of  the  seventeenth 
century  Gaston  wing  of  the  chateau.  The  church 
of  St.  Sauveur  whither  Jeanne  d'Arc  went  to  have 
her  banner  blessed  before  riding  off  to  raise  the 
siege  of  Orleans,  has  disappeared,  its  site  marked 
by  a  tablet  in  the  chateau  square. 

In  these  three  chateaux  of  royal  France,  Chinon, 
Amboise  and  Blois,  we  see  three  phases  of  its  old 
court  life.  Chinon  represents  the  sterner  feudal 
side,  a  life  in  keeping  with  the  rugged  strength 
and  simplicity  which  is  the  keynote  of  its  grim 
walls  and  towers.  At  Amboise  one  steps  into 
that  luxurious  period  of  Renaissance,  a  period  of 
beauty  and  of  splendour  that  combined  all  the 
delicacies  and  intricacies  of  the  marvellous  age 
which  finds  its  most  perfect  expression  there.  All 


BLOIS  247 

the  gaiety  and  joyous  exuberance  of  the  age,  all 
its  lightness  and  delight  in  beauty  for  its  own  sake, 
is  the  keynote  of  that  noble  monument,  marking 
as  it  does  the  flood-tide  of  the  Renaissance.  Blois, 
though  it  belongs  to  that  same  marvellous  age,  is 
pervaded  by  an  atmosphere  of  tragedy  that  over- 
shadows still  the  brilliance  of  its  past.  This 
shadow  resting  upon  it,  intensifies  rather  than 
dims  its  grandeur  and  luxuriant  beauty.  At 
Blois  one  feels  the  sinister  that  is  always  connected 
with  the  Italian  Renaissance,  and  which  crept  in 
with  the  evil  Medicis,  who  by  their  polluting 
touch  turned  to  rottenness  "the  fair  fruit  of 
beauty"  in  art  as  well  as  in  morals.  And  while 
the  superb  wing  of  Francis  I.  marks  the  flood-tide 
of  the  French  Renaissance  in  all  its  daring  beauty 
and  lofty  aspiration,  Blois  rests  within  the  shadow, 
tragedy  brooding  upon  its  walls  and  towers,  it 
being  seemingly  impossible  for  it  to  escape  into 
the  sunshine,  a  sunshine  which  somehow  drowns 
the  equally  cruel  and  bloody  deeds  perpetrated 
within  the  walls  of  Amboise.  Blois  and  Amboise 
represent  the  worship  of  beauty,  the  passionate 
love  of  art  which  is  an  integral  part  of  the  France 
of  to-day,  and  an  external  expression.  It  is  at 
Chinon  that  the  soul  of  France  is  laid  bare. 


IV.    LOCHES 

A  TMOSPHERE  is  a  potent  thing.  It  sets  the 
,/!.  character  of  a  place  even  as  the  personality 
of  a  people  create  it.  Thus  in  Touraine  one  comes 
under  a  new  spell,  into  an  atmosphere  soft-brood- 
ing over  the  fertile  valley  of  the  Loire,  its  poplar- 
lined  rivers  and  grey-green  fields  melting  into  the 
haze-dimmed  distance  of  purpling  hills  set  against 
the  blueness  of  a  southern  sky.  Touraine  is  the 
heart-beat  of  France,  the  very  life-blood  of  her 
being,  breathing  forth  the  sweet  fragrance  of  the 
locust  blossom  and  of  roses,  as  she  stands  at  the 
threshold  of  the  Provencal  country;  catching  the 
rich,  cadenced  singing  of  the  troubadours,  the  rip- 
pling of  silver  streams,  the  wild  nomad  airs  even 
of  the  desert,  of  the  East.  Touraine  was  the 
country  seat  of  royal  France,  and  about  her  gay, 
bedizened  court  gathered  not  only  the  flower  of 
chivalry,  but  also  the  most  highly  cultured  minds 
of  the  great  Middle  Age,  when  the  mailed  hand 
of  feudalism  clasped  the  baby  fingers  of  awaken- 
ing art:  in  Touraine  the  French  Renaissance  had 
its  birth.  Contact  with  foreign  elements, — Italy, 
248 


LOCHES  249 

the  East, — brought  about  this  awakening,  and 
above  the  rude  cries  of  battle  burst  forth  a  hymn 
to  beauty,  the  heart-cry  of  a  people  longing  to 
create,  to  fashion  something  beyond  implements 
of  war  and  plain-faced  strongholds  of  defence. 

The  people  of  Touraine  are  a  swarthy  race,  of 
different  type  and  build  from  their  stalwart  Nor- 
man neighbours,  gay,  impressionistic,  dreamy,  pas- 
sionate, bold  fighters;  and  with  their  Provencal 
nimbleness  of  versification  and  of  song,  charm- 
ing lovers  also;  the  nucleus,  indeed,  of  the  French 
nation  of  to-day.  The  foreign  wind  that  blew 
across  the  Apennines  into  France,  fanned  their 
quick  blood  to  the  boiling  point,  and  thus  along 
the  river  ways  of  the  Loire,  the  Cher  and  the 
Indre  there  rose  the  residential  chateau  of  the 
Renaissance,  outgrowth  of  feudalistic  days  and 
of  an  unquenchable  desire  to  create  in  stone  as 
well  as  on  canvas  something  beautiful, — a  desire, 
in  short,  to  refine  crude,  primitive  attempts  into 
masterpieces  of  highly  finished  art.  At  Loches 
we  find  the  elemental  beginnings  of  the  ninth  and 
eleventh  centuries  rising  side  by  side  with  the 
elaborate  finishings  of  the  Renaissance  of  the  six- 
teenth century.  A  towered  city,  Loches  crowns 
the  steep,  chalk  cliff,  once  the  site  of  a  Roman 
camp,  and  overlooking  the  green  valley  of  the 


250  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

Indre,  spreading  out  at  its  feet  ashimmer  in 
golden  sunlight  of  budding  May;  the  sky  shot 
with  billowy  fleece-clouds,  the  air  vibrant,  even 
in  the  noonday  stillness,  with  pulsing  mellow- 
ness, with  passion,  dormant  perhaps,  yet  smoulder- 
ing still  beneath  the  ivy-set  walls.  They,  towered 
and  turreted,  outline  the  rugged  steep  with  grim 
defiance,  exultant  in  their  strength  even  to  cru- 
elty; yet  Cuchulain-like,  swift  as  a  woman's  tend- 
erness to  clasp  the  nestling,  grizzled  town  close 
to  their  heart  with  proud,  calm  confidence  in  their 
ability  to  protect  it  against  all  foes;  the  little, 
clambering  town  that  dwells  secure  within  these 
moat-encircled  walls,  its  stumbling  chimneys 
stretching  in  humble  suppliance  towards  the  great 
chateau.  The  chateau  is  surrounded  by  a  second 
entourage  of  walls  that  set  it  distinct  and  apart 
in  good  old  feudal  fashion,  even  while  it  binds 
in  bonds  of  vassalage  and  fealty.  Here  on  the 
heights  the  work  of  the  ninth  and  the  eleventh 
centuries  and  that  of  the  late  Renaissance  clus- 
ters about  the  collegiate  church  of  St.  Ours,  whose 
dome-capped  roof  bespeaks  that  almost  sinister 
touch  of  the  Orient  lingering  amid  the  green 
meadows  and  along  the  sedge-lined  rivers  of 
Touraine.  This  imprint  of  an  alien  hand  is  found 
likewise  in  the  rich  rudeness  of  the  sculpturings 


Loches — Door  of  Saint  Ours  Church 


Clock  Tower 

Loches. 


251 


252  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

that  crown  its  main  portal  and  emboss  its  holy- 
water  basin,  formed  of  an  altar,  with  figures  of 
warriors,  reminiscent  of  those  warriors  of  the 
Cross,  perchance,  who  strove  to  gapple  with  the 
East  and  to  lay  low  the  crescent  banner  of  the 
Moslem  hosts.  While  the  crusaders  ultimately 
failed  in  permanently  holding  Jerusalem,  yet  they 
brought  back  with  them  new  ideas  and  an  archi- 
tectural knowledge  absorbed  from  their  contact 
with  the  Orient  that  has  left  its  mark  on  church 
and  chateau  alike.  St.  Ours  was  built  on  the  site 
of  a  fifth  century  monastery,  and  from  earliest 
times  was  under  the  direct  jurisdiction  of  the 
Pope,  and  therefore  not  under  the  supervision  of 
any  French  bishop. 

One  finds  here  the  pointed  style  of  the  South 
rather  than  of  the  north,  a  style  devised  especially 
to  support  domes, — domes  that  at  Loches  are 
octagonal  in  form,  rising  in  straight-lined  cones  of 
stonework  impressive  in  their  solemn  dignity  of 
mien.  Calm  they  are,  almost  to  impassiveness, 
brooding  over  the  twofold  life  that  unravelled  day 
by  day  upon  the  crested  hill, — life  at  the  royal 
chateau,  gay,  careless,  free;  and  life  across  the 
terraced  garden  at  the  Martelet  and  the  Tour 
Ronde,  grim,  heartrending,  captive:  the  life  of 
the  troubadour  singing  of  love  upon  the  moonlit 


LOCHES 


253 


battlements ;  and  the  life  of  the  prisoner  chanting 
of  despair  in  the  dim  twilight  of  his  prison  cell, 
as  he  beats  hopelessly  against  the  iron  bars  of  his 
captivity.  Norman  influence  is  seen,  too,  in  the 
rounded  arches  of  the  nave,  built  over  the  pointed 
arches  of  a  century  earlier,  an  influence  that  was 


The  Donjon  ;Lochc  57 

brought  to  bear  when  the  chateau  came  into  the 
possession  of  the  Plantagenets  in  the  eleventh  cen- 
tury through  Geoffrey's  marriage  with  Mathilda, 
the  daughter  of  Black  Foulques  of  Anjou.  The 
terror  of  the  Black  Foulques  of  Anjou  lingers 
still  amid  the  grass-grown  walls  and  along  the 
peaceful  waterways  of  Touraine;  and  on  winter 
nights,  when  the  wind,  fast  in  the  grip  of  a  wild 


254  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

storm,  shrieks  round  the  donjon  keep  and  those 
grey  towers  of  direful  memories,  the  peasants  hush 
their  talk,  crossing  themselves  as  they,  pale-eyed, 
listen  to  the  spirits  who,  so  cruelly  done  to  death, 
go  crying  down  the  valley  demanding  vengeance. 
Black  Foulques  was  a  worthy  predecessor  of 
Louis  XL,  who  was  to  carry  on  Foulques'  work 
of  fiendish  cruelty  to  the  refining  point  of  art, 
and  who  likewise  spent  his  last  days  pursuing 
peace  and  finding  none.  Louis  XL*  walled  up  his 
confessor  in  the  crypt  of  St.  Ours,  his  evil  con- 
science eating  out  his  heart  with  fear  and  sus- 
picious dread  lest  the  priest  from  whom  he  dared 
not  withhold  his  sins  might  betray  him.  Yet 
about  the  altar  a  brighter  memory  lingers;  for  it 
was  there  in  the  presence  of  courtly  France,  that 
James  V.  of  Scotland  pledged  his  troth  with 
Madeleine  of  France,  thus  binding  together  the 
rugged,  heather-tinted  moors  and  the  sunny  fields 
of  Touraine.  Their  daughter,  Marie  Stuart,  came 
to  France  to  become  the  bride  of  Francis  II.,  a 
beautiful  girl,  her  effervescent  nature  full  of  the 
sunshine  and  gaiety  of  the  South;  yet  her  after- 
years  were  touched  to  fatality  with  the  stern, 
tragic  note  of  the  Scottish  hills. 

John  Lackland  lost  Loches  with  the  rest  of  his 
French  possessions,  Philip  Augustus  capturing  it. 


LOCHES  255 

for  a  second  time  in  1204.  From  that  time,  ex- 
cept for  a  lapse  of  fifty  years  in  the  fourteenth 
century  when  it  again  reverted  to  the  English,  it 
remained  a  crown  possession.  Charles  VII.  began 
the  royal  chateau,  completing  the  Gothic  tower, 
the  rest  of  the  chateau  being  subsequently  finished 
by  Louis  XII.  Loches,  however,  never  lost  its 
Norman  sturdiness  despite  its  Tourainian  birth; 
its  strategic  position  and  the  defences  show  the 
master  mind  of  the  Norman  builder. 

A  dual  personality  pervades  Loches,  that  of  the 
mild  Charles  VII.,  whose  spirit  lingers  about  the 
royal  chateau;  and  that  of  the  relentless  Louis 
XL,  who,  in  spirit  at  least,  dwelt  under  the  shadow 
of  the  donjon,  the  evil  in  him  glutting  itself  upon 
the  imposed  sufferings  of  victims  who  had  fallen 
into  his  clutches.  There  seems  no  light  to  relieve 
the  blackness  of  his  nature,  no  softer  side  of  ap- 
peal, no  imprint  of  a  woman's  touch  that  with 
Charles  VII.  redeemed  much  that  was  base,  weak 
and  vicious  in  him;  for  it  was  Agnes  Sorel  who, 
holding  the  very  destiny  of  France  in  her  slim  fin- 
gers, turned  his  irresoluteness  into  the  channel  of 
firm  resolution,  welding  the  kingdom  of  France 
into  a  united  whole,  stilling  the  tumultuous  un- 
rest that  the  long  English  domination  had  pro- 
duced. A  woman's  courage,  of  a  truth,  stood  be- 


256  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

tween  France  and  ruin ;  a  woman's  beauty  held  for 
the  moment  the  fickle  heart  of  the  king;  a  wom- 
an's heart  yearned  for  her  torn  and  bleeding  coun- 
try, and  Agnes  Sorel,  "la  Belle  des  Belles," 
yielded  herself  the  needed  sacrifice,  and  France 
was  saved.  Her  life  was  spent  much  in  deeds  of 
charity,  and  when  she  died  she  left  a  large  sum 
of  money  to  the  monks  of  St.  Ours,  in  which 
church  she  was  buried.  Her  tomb,  which  was 
removed  to  the  Gothic  tower  during  the  Revolu- 
tion, is  surmounted  by  a  white  marble  figure  of 
herself,  two  angels  kneeling  at  her  head,  her  feet 
resting  upon  a  pair  of  lambs  couchant, — delicate 
tribute  to  the  woman  who  in  purity  of  heart 
yielded  up  even  her  honour,  however  wrongfully, 
a  willing  sacrifice  on  the  altar  of  her  country. 

Across  the  court,  overshadowed  by  a  giant  chest- 
nut tree,  is  a  low  doorway  that  leads  into  the  tiny 
oratory  of  Anne  of  Brittany,  its  walls  carved  by  a 
skilled  hand,  Anne's  arms,  the  ermine  and  the  cor- 
delier, covering  the  entire  surface.  All  the  beauty 
and  art  of  the  Renaissance  is  portrayed  in  this  lit- 
tle gem  of  florid  perfection,  the  chisel  of  Italian 
art  imprinted  there.  The  oratory  was  built  for 
Anne  by  her  husband,  Louis  XII.,  while  he  was 
finishing  the  chateau  begun  by  Charles  VII.,  and 
it  was  in  his  reign,  that  the  influence  of  the  Italian 


LOCHES  257 

Renaissance  began  to  be  poignantly  felt  in  France. 
Italy  was  at  the  flood-tide  of  this  movement,  and 
the  French,  returning  from  the  Italian  wars,  car- 
ried the  spark  back  with  them  that  was  to  set  the 
inflammable  French  imagination  alight.  While 
Louis  XII.  was  embellishing  his  chateau,  his  pris- 
oner, Ludovico  Sforza,  "il  Moro,"  the  Milanese 
duke,  at  whose  court  Louis  had  first  been  dazzled 
with  the  glories  of  the  Renaissance,  was  whiling 
away  the  bitter  hours  of  his  captivity  by  decorat- 
ing his  prison  walls  with  carvings  and  inscriptions, 
a  touch  of  the  Renaissance  penetrating  thus  into 
the  very  heart  of  a  feudalistic  dungeon.  Here 
this  lover  of  art  and  of  beauty,  this  man  accus- 
tomed to  the  luxury  and  refinement  of  an  Italian 
court,  ate  out  his  heart  and  died  amid  the  rude 
barrenness  of  medievalism,  in  the  cold  twilight 
gloom  of  his  narrow  prison  cell.  Tradition  hints 
of  a  blocked  doorway  that  was  found  in  one  of 
these  rock-hewn  dungeons,  which  when  broken 
through,  revealed  the  armoured  figure  of  a  knight 
sitting  upon  a  rude  stone  bench,  the  figure  in 
right  ghostly  fashion  sinking  swiftly,  crumbling 
into  dust  before  the  eyes  of  the  horror-stricken  dis- 
coverers. No  clue  of  this  man's  history  remains 
save  the  slim  thread  that  records  the  incarcera- 
tion by  Louis  XI.  of  several  rebellious  noblemen. 


258  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

Louis,  if  the  tale  be  true,  doubtless  took  keen 
pleasure  in  watching  them  grow  thin  and  wan 
from  hunger  and  tortured  sensibility,  an  agony  of 
mind  that  suffering  sharpens  rather  than  dulls. 
His  love  of  cruelty  amounted  almost  to  mania, 
and  he  even  had  an  underground  passage  built 
between  the  chateau  and  the  Tour  Ronde  that  he 
might  more  easily  reach  the  dungeons,  and  thus 
spend  his  hours  in  idleness,  if  he  so  chose,  twitting 
his  prisoners  mewed  up  in  their  cramped  cells,  or 
suspended  in  cages  from  the  ceiling, — cages  too 
small  to  either  lie  down  or  stand  up  in.  These 
fiendish  inventions  were  conceived  by  William  of 
Harancourt,  Bishop  of  Verdun,  who  was  forced 
later  to  put  them  to  the  test  himself  along  with 
Jean  de  Balue  and  Philip  de  Comines. 

Yet  as  one  stands  in  the  inner  court  encircled 
by  these  great  towers,  and  shadowed  by  the  don- 
jon keep,  the  sunlight  in  rich,  golden  mellowness 
resting  upon  the  flower-grown  crannies  of  the 
mouldering  walls,  or  playing  upon  the  flame-col- 
oured wild  roses  that  cluster  in  the  bright  garden 
patch  edged  with  green,  we  feel  the  softening 
touch  that  time  has  laid  upon  even  the  barbari- 
ties of  Louis  XI.  Lingering  in  the  June  air  re- 
dolent with  flowers,  we  catch  the  love  song  of 
some  warbler,  the  young  troubadour  of  Provence 


Loches,  Oratory  of  Anne  of  Brittany 


LOCHES  259 

singing  to  his  lady  love  with  all  the  gay  abandon 
of  the  old  days.  His  is  the  note  of  joyous  gaiety 
that  lingers  amid  the  peace  of  crumbling  greatness, 
this  note  melodising  and  dominating  the  mourn- 
ful cawing  of  the  rooks  circling  about  the  deserted 
towers  haunted  with  tragic  memories,  memories 
that  recall  the  rude  cradle  of  our  nationalism :  for 
it  is  these  memories  that  forge  another  link  in 
the  chain  of  history  following  the  waterways  of 
France. 

Thus  to  delve  into  the  secret  past,  and  to  re- 
veal the  pages  of  history,  is  to  follow  down  the 
most  fascinating  of  roads,  the  road  to  yesterday, 
the  yesterday  accountable  so  largely  for  our  to- 
day,— the  imprint  of  the  future  branded  there. 
And  the  road*?  Where  do  we  find  its  beginnings, 
and  how  do  we  know  it  from  the  myriads  of  others 
branching  out  poplar-lined,  allurement  lurking  in 
every  curve  of  its  windings'?  Perhaps  from  the 
very  fact  of  its  maze-like  qualities,  its  atmosphere 
of  mystery  and  romance  that  time  has  heightened 
rather  than  dispelled.  If  we  turn  the  musty  pages 
carefully  one  thing  will  impress  itself  upon  us, 
that  as  far  as  the  historic  past  is  concerned,  the 
path  lies  along  the  waterways,  the  broad  high- 
way in  ancient  times  connecting  not  only  cities 
and  far  distant  towns  and  villages,  but  leading 


260  THE  HILL-TOWNS  OF  FRANCE 

out  also  to  the  unhorizoned  sea  where  fortune 
tossed  her  golden  apples  for  the  bold  adventur- 
ous spirit,  and  where  supremacy  has  been  con- 
tended for  even  down  to  our  own  day.  So,  if  you 
would  learn  the  history  of  France,  her  deepest 
tragedies  and  her  most  highly-coloured  romances ; 
if  you  would  see  in  perfection  the  two  greatest 
powers  of  her  Middle  Age,  her  magnificent  cathe- 
drals and  abbeys  and  her  giant  castles  rising  amid 
their  century-stained  hill-towns,  follow  the  rivers, 
— the  Seine,  the  Loire,  the  Ranee,  the  Lot  and  the 
many  others  that  one  might  name, — those  serpen- 
tines of  silver  bound  in  green,  lined  by  the  tall, 
calm  poplars;  reflectant  too,  in  their  waters,  the 
flux  and  reflux  of  a  nation's  history;  rising  to 
flood,  then  ebbing  but  to  rise  continually, — the 
Mascaret  coming  with  sudden  swiftness :  then  the 
fall. 


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BOOKS  ly  BOYD  CABLE 


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ably  given  the  EngfiA  speaking  world  a  better  raider- 
s'-;:P.:;  ::  the  iSiiitedrtubai  the  C-rea:  7.'-  fen 
anything  eke  that  has  been  written.  Cast  for  the  most 
part  in  the  fonn  of  fiction,  and  written  for  the  most 
part  within  sottnd  of  the  German  guns,  they  have  an 
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BET  WEEN  THE  LINES 

An  attempt  to  convey  the  living  humor  or  the 
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ACTION  FRONT 

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DOING  THEIR  BIT  ****<> 

A  vivid  description  of  the  way  tiie  munition  workefs 

—  2--..^^.  ire  ilikirLs  :'^  hofl  —  :r-r  treciJie;. 


GRAPES  OF  WRATH 

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HEetobe»prif«te«jMia  *•  jml  mm  d^  of  a  modern 
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By   HERMANN    FERNAU 


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German,"  and  a  demand  for  reforms  which  all 
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as  well  as  in  a  French  military  prison  for 
trying  to  get  there  before  he  received  a 
pass. 

Here  is  the  real  story  of  those  early  days 
of  the  war ;  those  days  of  confusion,  of  con- 
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A 

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things  of  human  life. 

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religion,  the  Church,  their  officers  and  their 
comrades,  is  exhibited  not  only  with  san- 
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of  outlook. 

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